


The Long Way

by forgadgetsandgizmos



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison and Scott have kids, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Attempted Kidnapping, Blood and Violence, Businessman Derek Hale, Dead Hales, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Doctor Lydia Martin, Doctor Stiles Stilinski, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gun Violence, Homophobic Language, Kidnapping, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Organized Crime, Past Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Rich Derek Hale, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Sort Of, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22249591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgadgetsandgizmos/pseuds/forgadgetsandgizmos
Summary: Stiles had almost made it out the hospital doors when he heard his voice.It was barely a whisper. To Stiles, it sounded tentative, almost embarrassed. It was the nervous query of a jilted ex-lover who didn’t quite know how his question would be taken.So much for his avoidance in favor of Scott-and-Allison’s-babies plan.“Stiles.”It was more forcefully this time, surer, and accompanied by heavy footsteps behind him.Stiles squared his shoulders.He twisted to the left.And came face to face with Derek Hale.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 95





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read! Also, Disclaimer: My knowledge of medical affairs stems from Grey's Anatomy.  
> And of course, I don't own Teen Wolf. This work will alternate Stiles and Derek's POV in the beginning and focus on Stiles. Shorter chapters until chapter four and then they get longer. Let me know if ya'll enjoy! This is my first (long) fit and I'm nervous!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prologue

The blood dripped into growing pool on the concrete. No, poured, rushed. How could he survive that, how could _anyone_ survive that? 

Derek strained against the rough hands clenched tightly around his arms and neck, keeping his eyes focused on the limp form in front of him. He clung to each rise and fall of his chest. As long as his chest kept moving, he kept living. He couldn’t die, not here, not now. Derek hears Stiles’ faint voice echoing in his head, quoting some Grey’s Anatomy episode at him, about how the human body holds five pints of blood - or was it six – and could lose over three and still recover. 

Yellow light penetrates the darkness of the alley, blinding him. Derek flinched, squinting against it. The ringing in his ears subsides until he can almost make out voices, low and angry, behind him. 

“Please,” he begged them, voice cracking over the word, “let me help him, let me—” He was met with a sharp jab to the side of his head. Blackness crept around the edges of his newly, whitewashed vision. 

“Shut up, faggot. This isn’t about your little boyfriend.” The direction came from a dark outline against headlights, his tone sharp and cold. “I want him out, now. Take him to the truck.”

Derek threw his weight to the ground and went limp, hoping to prevent them from being able to lift his body. The hands on him twisted his arms behind him and yanked something hard around his wrists, binding them together. The man gripping his neck was replaced with the prick of needle. 

Derek twisted in their grip as they dragged him towards the figure in the headlights, arching back towards the alley. The last thing he saw before his vision faded to black was Stiles’ body, illuminated in harsh, yellow light.

* * *

“—fessor wants us to memorize all 20 enzymes’ reactions and causes. Which ordinarily would be fine, but he’s quizzing us on it Friday and that’s only two days to learn 20 enzymes. . . “  
Derek slowed down, his hand to fall from Stiles’. Stiles’ rambling continued as he walked down the trail, not noticing Derek’s absence. Derek glanced around, his gaze catching on the blooming flowers in the trees that provided shade over their curving pathway. His eyes flash back over Stiles’ body, lingering on the curve of his ass. 

“Derek, are you listening to me?” 

His eyes snap up in time to catch Stiles spinning around and walking back to him, arms crossed, a questioning look on his face. 

“Hello, earth to boyfriend.” Stiles waved a hand dramatically in front of his face. 

A laugh bubbled out of him. “I love you,” Derek said softly. He grabbed Stiles’ hands and pulled him closer until his body was pressed against his own. “I love you,” he repeats, louder. 

Stiles’ eyes grew large, his jaw dropping slightly. 

“You, what? You, Derek—” 

Derek pressed his lips to his, cutting him off. His hand curved around Stiles’ neck, moving up into his hair, the other still gripping his hand. 

Stiles placed a hand on Derek’s chest and gently pushed him back until he was far enough away that he could meet his eyes. 

“I love you, Derek Hale,” Stiles declared. 

Derek grinned and pulled him back in for another kiss.

* * *

Derek was laying on a bed, and everything was hurting. His head was pounding, his shoulders and back sore and achy, as if he spent too long at the gym and then didn’t stretch afterwards. His eyes fluttered open and he winced, his hand flying up to block the light at the worsening throb behind his eyes. A thin ring of skin, red and enflamed, encircled his wrist.

Stiles. Derek bolted up as his memory came flooding back. 

A blurry figure above him pushed him back down. “Lay back down, nephew. You have a slight concussion, you hit your head on the door.” Derek blinked, trying to clear his vision. Peter towered over him, a single eyebrow arching down. 

“What’s going on, Uncle Peter,” Derek growled. He pressed a hand to his forehead and pushed against the pressure there. “Where’s Stiles? He was hurt.” Derek’s voice grew louder and deeper as he spoke until he was nearly yelling, not realizing he had also started rising off the bed. He swayed where he sat. 

“Stiles is fine,” Peter answered, rolling his eyes. “He’s in the hospital. You need to lay down. You’re still recovering from the drugs in your system.” 

Derek sat back down onto the mattress and got his first look of the room he was in. It was a mediocre motel room with two beds and a TV that looked like it was in pristine condition, or at least it would’ve been when it was purchased in the 60’s. A dirty white door to his right lead to the bathroom. 

“What did you get us involved in? Those men. This was you, your. . . business,” he sputtered, trying to sort out his hazy memories. 

Peter pursed his lips and turned his back to Derek. He pulled two packed duffels from behind the other bed. “We’re leaving,” he announced. “I got in too deep and don’t have the money to pay them back. They came at you as a warning to me. I got you back, you’re welcome, but now the trick I used won’t work again and they’ll be coming after you for real damage next. I packed you a bag.” Peter smacked one of the duffels he had placed on the bed. “These men are dangerous, as you well know. I know you wanted to finish school but that’s not an option now.” 

Derek swallowed his protests. He knew what shit Peter was involved in, but he couldn’t say much against it. He didn’t have anywhere else to go. Laura’s care was expensive, and Peter had control over Derek’s inheritance for another three years, until he turned 25. If he ignored Peter, aside from the occasional job as runner or muscle, Peter kept Laura’s doctor’s pockets lined. Derek had never thought this would happen, though. He knew he was somewhat ignorant, but he wanted it that way. The less he knew, the less danger. Or he had thought, at least. 

“What about Stiles?” Derek asked, pain etched on his face at the thought of Stiles being hurt again with him gone. 

“Assuming we leave, he’ll be fine. He wasn’t the target, you were. He was collateral damage,” Peter stated calmly. “He’ll recover in the hospital on his own.” 

“What’s wrong with him?” 

“A fractured skull and some bruised ribs, from what I gathered.” Peter walked back around to his side. “Can you stand? It’s time to go.” 

Derek limped to his feet, shakily. He gripped Peter’s hands to steady himself. “Fine,” he agreed. “But we have one more stop to make.”

* * *

Derek looked down at his boyfriend of two years, his sedated form so unlike him. He had waited, watching when the Sherriff had finally left to grab a shower and a change of clothes in an on-call room Melissa had walked him to, and slipped in the room. Stiles was full of life and always so happy, always wanting to talk about everything. He shouldn’t be laying in a hospital bed, lifeless.

Derek’s leather jacket ruffled as he bent down to brush hair out of Stiles’ eyes. 

“I’m so sorry.” Derek’s spoke barely above a whisper, pain in every word. His eyes scanned Stiles’ injuries. The bandages on his arm, his head, the scrapes surrounding the injury down to his cheekbones. “I never wanted something like this to happen to you. I knew what Peter was involved in, but I thought if I stayed out of it, everything would be okay. I thought I could protect you. I shouldn’t have found out I couldn’t like this.” Derek bit down a lump in his throat. 

He grabbed the edges of his hospital blanket and pulled them tight under Stiles’ chin, hands hovering just over his body afterwards. 

“I’m protecting you now. I’m going. You’ll be okay. You’ll recover and go to some big medical school and kick ass as a doctor. And I’ll help Peter.” Derek chuckled, dark and cold.  
He shoved his hands back into his leather jacket and looked away, unable to look at the stark bruises marring the pale skin. A small plastic bag labeled ‘patient belongings’ sat on the chair to his side. 

Derek pulled a small, folded note from his jean pocket and placed it into it.

_I’m sorry. Don’t look for me._

_\-- D_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/kudos bring me joy (:
> 
> Visit me on tumblr at [forgadgetsandgizmos](https://forgadgetsandgizmos.tumblr.com/)


	2. Revascularization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' POV, seven years after Derek leaves him in the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. If you catch any mistakes point them out in the comments and I'll fix it. 
> 
> FYI - POV does change to Derek briefly during this chapter but it will be in Stiles' POV in future chapters. Make sure to watch out for it. 
> 
> Updates will be once a week in the future but I wanted to get this one out so you can see where the story is headed. Enjoy and let me know what you thought!

“Okay, we got the tortilla chips and salsa, pigs-in-a-blanket, fruit tray, veggies tray, and Lydia will be here soon with the football themed cupcakes. That’s everything, right?” Allison finished counting off her list in the background with a questioning glance back towards the boys at the couch. 

Stiles, Scott, and Jackson were all lounging on the coach, staring intently at the screen. Danny lounged on a chair to the side, his glass balancing on his knee.  
Pre-game reels were on, revisiting old team plays and discussing key players for upcoming game. Considering the bets that were placed on the outcome of the game, they could hardly be doing anything else. 

Scott half-turned his head towards his wife, not tearing his eyes away from the screen. “Sounds good,” he hollered. 

Stiles figured that, like him, Scott hadn’t been really listening, but anything she and Lydia got cooked was always great. That last item, though, caught his attention.

Stiles leaned his head backwards on the couch and an upside-down Allison filled his sight. “Did you say football themed cupcakes?” Stiles’ cheeks flushed and a large smile filled his face. “You took my cupcake suggestion?” Stiles suggested a pull apart, football-themed cupcake cake for their annual super bowl party weeks ago, but Lydia had insisted on making her normal, double layer yellow and coconut cake. 

Allison’s hands flew to her hips. “Lydia took over a shift at the hospital for a friend on the day she was supposed to make the cake. It was so last minute, she’s just picking up something from the store. You didn’t know? You work together.” Allison pushed his head back up. “All the blood rushing to your head is making you look like a tomato.” 

The ring of the doorbell broke over the T.V. 

“Does someone else want to get that or should I continue playing housewife?” Allison playfully snapped at Scott’s hair on the couch. Scott leaned back into her touch. He tugged at her wrist until she bent down and locked his fingers around her neck and kissed her. 

A smile bloomed on her face. 

“Hmmm, get it,” Danny raised up his glass towards the couple on the couch from the chair he was perched on. 

“My eyes!” Stiles screeched and threw his hands over his eyes. “I’m getting the door just to escape this,” he cried. 

He pushed himself up off the couch and headed to the door. Stiles didn’t really care how much PDA they showed but kidding them for it would never stop being fun. This was their first big party since Jenny was born. Stiles can officially attest to a second kid being way more than just twice the work. Babysitting had gotten a lot harder ten months ago. Today, all the kids were at Melissa’s with an extra babysitter on hand, so today’s party is adults only. 

The doorbell rang two more times. Stiles jumped the last couple steps to the door and twisted the knob to find red hair and matching nails holding a large, white cake box. 

“Football cupcake cake!” Stiles pumped his fist into the air and teetered back onto his feet, practically bouncing. 

Lydia’s eyes lit up in silent laughter at his response. “Move back, idiot. It’s cold as balls outside and you kept me waiting too long. I’ve half a mind to drop these cupcakes in the grass.” She pushed past him and dropped her purse on the floor. “And that has been hurting my shoulder.” 

Stiles bend down to grab her purse and Lydia went on ahead of him. Once she rounded the corner where she couldn’t see him anymore, he opened the corner of the box and peaked in. Inside was a football shaped set of cupcakes, ready for eating. 

Perfect. 

A loud series of cheers and yells went up from the living room. Since Lydia’s here, everyone can break out the beer. Stiles couldn’t drink – he had to dip out right after the game for his night shift at the hospital - but getting to watch all his drunk friends yell at a screen is still fun. 

Stiles smiled and headed to the living room.

* * *

Storm days were Stiles’ favorite shifts at the hospital to work. Idiots get hurt in the most dramatic ways and during big storms like this one? They all flood into his ER, pun intended. Though nothing could top the high of saving a life, the sirens and bark of commands breaking through the earie quiet of a third-shift in the ER came close.

“Patient was trying to clean out his gutter on the second story when he fell. Broken leg and ankle, possible injury to ribs. Oxygen was given at the scene.” The EMT pulled the gurney to a halt just inside the emergency entrance doors. “Where do you want him?” 

“I got it.” Stiles grabbed the bars at each side. As a second-year resident, Stiles wasn’t allowed to officially run the ER. Assigning himself a patient was about the extent of his power. It was, however, very fun. Stiles turned his attention back to the EMT. “Only one today? Slow night. I thought the storm would’ve brought more in.” He got a chuckle in response.

“You’re about to eat your words kid.” 

Sirens echoed in the distance as they got nearer. Across the room at the main desk, the phone started ringing. 

“There was a bus crash on third and we’re taking everyone!” The station nurse’s voice cut through the sounds. 

Stiles grinned. Not so slow then.

* * *

The rain still hadn’t let up eight hours later. Patients were still trickling in, but they weren’t Stiles’ problem anymore. His energy had run out long before the hours on his shift had. The door to the resident’s lockers swung shut behind him as he ruffled through his jacket him for his badge that he could have sworn he threw in there.

He grasped at empty space and groaned audibly. If the rip in the pocket lining had gotten big enough for his badge to slip into, he might actually have to buy a new jacket soon. The patch jobs torn almost as fast as he could get them done. 

“Ahem.” Glittering red nails held up a plastic, rectangle badge with S. STILINSKI in bold. “Looking for something? You missed your jacket in the lockers and I figured you’d be too brain dead to notice. I see I was correct.” 

Stiles’ shoulders slumped in relief. “Lydia Martin, you are a godsend.” Stiles grabbed the ID from her with a smile. “Are you just getting in?” 

“Sadly. Of course you ended up with best cases.” The narrow hallway grew more crowded the closer to shift change it got as more people started passing through. Lydia pulled Stiles off to the side so they could keep talking. 

“The night shift isn’t so glamorous. I’m used to first and it was exhausting.” He pauses, glancing back to the locker room. “Wait, how could you have grabbed my badge after me and somehow been in front of me to give it back? You work miracles but not actual miracles.” Stiles eyes scrunched up as he tried to fit her presence into the timeline. 

Lydia’s face twisted into a grimace. “Okay, so I stole this out of your jacket before you changed. I needed to catch you before you left.” She adjusted her purse on her shoulder and glanced up at the ceiling. “You aren’t going to be very happy but don’t shoot the messenger, okay? I didn’t want you to be bombarded.” 

Stiles shifted closer to the wall as a passing nurse bumped into his shoulder. “What is it, Lyds? I’ve got to go.” He filled the question with as much annoyance as he could manage, wanting to convey the inconvenience of this hallway talk to her. 

“Derek Hale is in the lobby.” 

Stiles jerked up straight. His body flooded cold. 

Fuck.

Derek Hale. 

“My Derek?” Well, not his Derek. Not anymore. 

Lydia nodded. 

Double Fuck.

* * *

_The first time Stiles and Derek met ended with a wasted coffee and ruined apron._

_Stiles was having an all-day Saturday study session for an updating Medical Terminology test and needed a pick-me-up. He was out of his dorm for the first time around one o’clock with a hankering for a warm Starbucks brownie. He got a drink too but really, how could anyone expect him to resist? There’s a reason he’s broke and it’s not for lack of working._

_Starbucks was busy for midday and he had to wait longer than expected. After the barista took his order and he was handed his brownie, he shuffled off to the side counter where they leave the drinks. The line had curved around the door into the seating area and that was not a fight he wanted to brave._

_Stiles peaked into the warm brownie bag in his hand. The dark chocolate color stood out against the light brown of the bag. Oh, and that rich smell floating up made the crowds and short walk in the cold worth it. He reached a hand in to grab a stray chocolate chip where several were stuck to the top of the bag. It was a lot of force to rip off the top layer of chocolate chips with paper. How long had they been this busy for the barista to be in such a rush? Eh, he gets chocolate chips out of it._

_He reached into the bag to grab some when a sudden, blunt pressure on the small of his back sent him stumbling forward. Stiles flung his head around to see what hit him as he threw out his hand to balance on the ‘’pick up order’ ledge he stood by. But almost as soon as he was steady, he realized that in grabbing the ledge he let go of the bag he was support. It was still in his hand because of the small bag opening catching on the size of his balled-up fist and it was slipping fast._

_Awe, fuck. Stiles didn’t exactly have the extra money to go buy a new brownie. With all these people flooding in, they probably wouldn’t have any more by the time he got back up to the counter. He leaned forward and bent his legs, trying to catch the bag in his makeshift lap so he could grab it. It’s too bad he didn’t notice the hand reaching out to place Stiles’ very own tall salted caramel mocha right in the path of his suddenly lurching forward head._

_So, while he caught the brownie, headbutt his own mocha he did._

_“Shit, shit. I’m so sorry.” Stiles spun around, reaching for the napkins to soak up the coffee before it dripped off the edge of his side of the counter. He laid them all around the edge of the counter._

_A deep voice interrupted his frantic patting. “Don’t worry about it, we spill them all the time. Spill by headbutting is a first, though.” A chuckle followed that sent a shiver down Stiles’ spine._

_Stiles glanced up to see the owner of that voice was a tall, dark haired barista stood on the other side of the short wall, coated in a thin layer of salted caramel mocha. A fluff of long, black hair was staring him down as the barista pulled the string of his now soaked apron over his head with tan fingers. He let it fold over his waist and met Stiles’ eyes._

_Smile lines made his piercing green eyes seem to glow with happiness. Stiles let his own eyes trail over his face to find thick eyebrows being pulled slightly down by a thick smirk covering his face. His eyes lingered over neck muscles that disappeared under a black V-neck with a name tag engraved ‘Derek’. Shit, he was leering. His eyes snapped up to meet Derek’s emerald ones._

_“We weren’t expected the rush today, so we aren’t staffed right, and my boss has been in panic mode all day. Watching you knock a coffee over like that has to be the best thing I’ve seen all day,” Derek said with a smaller smirk. A large towel had appeared in his hands and he was using it to soak up the coffee still on the counter._

_“I was trying to catch my brownie! And I succeed in covering you in coffee.” Stiles sighed. Could test anxiety project into social awkwardness? Out of anyone, it would be Stiles. “Sorry, man. It’s been a rough day.” His hands fell down by his sides still loosely holding onto the slightly squished brownie bag. He watched miserably as those strong hands finished wiping away the coffee and grabbed a clean, damp towel from a nearby bucket to wipe off the counter one more time. Got to get rid of the sticky evidence of Stiles’ massive fuck-up this beautiful man had just witnessed. Any aura of gracefulness was a hopeless goal after that._

_Derek just shook his head. “It only got on the apron and we’ve got more in back. Can I make you a new coffee?” One bushy eyebrow arched up at him.  
“Oh, uh, yeah sure. I mean, I’d like you. To! I’d like you to, yes.” Stiles finally stuttered out the end of that sentence. And there goes his last remaining chance not be a complete idiot. _

_Derek just snorted. “Are you going to tell me what it was? The cup is soaked through.”_

_Stiles rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “It was a tall salted caramel mocha.” This couldn’t get any worse. Derek took a few steps back to grab a cup from beside the register and turned towards the machine to make his drink._

_“Claire!”_

_The high voiced screeched right in Stiles’ ear. The woman whose drink that most likely was side-stepped Stiles to grab it drink off the counter. She shot him a dirty look. His eyes scrunched in confusion before he realized he was still blocking half the counter from when he moved to grab the napkins. Stiles quickly shuffled back to where he was before and caught the tail end of Derek’s voice._

_“hose, huh?”_

_He turned his ear towards Derek to catch the tail end of his sentence. Was that to him? He should say he didn’t hear. But if it wasn’t directed to him and he said something, that might actually make this whole thing even more embarrassing no matter what he previously thought._

_“I mean you,” The voice cleared up._

_“Oh, I’m sorry,” Stiles started. “I didn’t hear you?” His voice turned up at the end._

_“I said you’re one of those, huh?” Derek repeated._

_Stiles just shrugged. “I guess so.” A nod followed._

_“No judgment,” he continued. “I’m a black coffee type guy.” The was facing Stiles now with a cup in one hand and a sharpie in another. “One salted caramel mocha. What’s the name?”_

_“Stiles. S-T-I-L-E-S.” Derek scribbled it down on the cup as he spelled._

_Another chuckle sounded. “Nice name. Is it real?”_

_“Yeah, actually. It’s a nickname,” Stiles replied. “My real name is unpronounceable and way too long to spell out every time I need a coffee.” Derek reached out to hand Stiles the coffee. Stiles grabbed it and shifted the brownie bag into that hand so he could grab his phone out his pocket before he left. The coffee felt large in his hand than normal._

_"Oh, this is a grande, I just ordered -"_

_"Consider it a bonus for having to wait for a second order," came the response. Stiles blinked._

_“Thank you so much,” he blurted out to the man. “I hope your shifts gets better than this.” Derek’s lips just twisted into another small smirk as he turned back to the next order a woman behind him was handing off._

_Stiles turned to leave with the other rush of bodies flooding out the back door with their order. He sped out the door. A rush of cold air greeted him. His shoved his free hand and phone into his jacket pocket and made to head back to his dorm. He took a sip of his coffee and saw a large print of black ink._

_He twisted the cup around to see his name scrawled about a phone number._

_Well shit. Maybe that wasn’t as much of a disaster as he thought._

* * *

The last time he’d seen him was through a haze of red and concrete, bloody and screaming his name. Stiles had thought he was dead when he woke up in that hospital bed alone. His dad had rushed in, but he hadn’t been at the scene. He couldn’t tell Stiles what happened. All his dad knew was that it had been three days and for the two and three quarters that he had been here for, Derek was nowhere to be found. It took another two hours for him to find that note. 

I’m sorry. Don’t look for me.

I’m sorry. Bullshit.

Stiles remembered Derek getting dragged away, not beating him up. He remembered Derek bleeding. Even if he blamed himself, how would running away fix anything? It took months for him to stop waking up from nightmares with Derek’s name on his lips, reaching out for the empty spot in their bed where he used to sleep. Even years later, the panic attacks still crop up on the anniversary of the attack. Derek couldn’t be here at his work. This was his haven. If there was a scene, he couldn’t handle the questions from every well-meaning nurse and doctor he passed. His eyes focused back on Lydia who was staring at him. Her eyebrows were scrunched up and her hand partially reached out. 

Okay. 

“I wanted to warn you--“Stiles pushed passed her towards the exit, headed right through that very aforementioned lobby. “Stiles, where are you going?” She screeched, scrambled after him. He marched forward, rounding the corner to enter the lobby area. 

Derek stood just off center. He looked better than Stiles remembered. He had filled out even more. He wore a perfectly fitted deep navy suit that was tight where it needed to be with four buttons on the jacket and silver cuff links that the early morning sun bounced off. He stood in a group of well-dressed men in suits, briefcases in hand. The dean of medicine stood to his right. He was facing Derek and shaking his hand. 

And Derek was facing the door he’d have to walk through to leave this hospital. 

Stiles started walking. He glanced back to see Lydia hovering at the entrance to the lobby. Her red nails caught the sun too and reflected back at him like Christmas lights. He squared his shoulders. 

This is fine. It’s fine.

He started walking. Derek Hale didn’t matter anymore. Scott and Allison were having a date night tonight and he was babysitting. Jenny was the chubbiest baby he’d ever seen. He isn’t quite sure she has anything on Derek, though. Would Derek make chubby babies? Oh, nope. He wasn’t going to think about that. Once he got through the door, he could get food. Then sleep. And then babies. 

Stiles had almost made it out the hospital doors when he heard his voice. 

It was barely a whisper. To Stiles, it sounded tentative, almost embarrassed. It was the nervous query of a jilted ex-lover who didn’t quite know how his question would be taken. 

So much for his avoidance in favor of Scott-and-Allison’s-babies plan. 

_“Stiles.”_

It was more forcefully this time, surer, and accompanied by heavy footsteps behind him.

Stiles squared his shoulders. 

He twisted to the left. 

And came face to face with Derek Hale.

* * *

_An Hour Earlier_

Derek finished tucking the collar of his button-down into a velvet lined navy suit jacket. He glanced over himself as best he could in the small SUV mirror. He had just finished getting it altered the week before and hadn’t had an occasion to wear it yet. He could feel the slight edge where velvet met silk and it itched more than he thought it would. He may have someone line the inside of the velvet with silk so it wouldn’t bother him. It would be a shame to waste such a good suit. And it looked good, he admitted to himself.

“Boyd, how far are we from the hospital?” Derek turned towards the open window in the divider between the driver and back passenger side of the SUV. 

“About six minutes. We should get there at seven promptly, sir.” Derek acknowledged the response with a curt nod. If Boyd said it, that’s what would happen. The man had been his silent driver for six months before he had received unlimited access to his inheritance and for the five years afterwards. He was a packaged deal that came with Peter’s deal to Sergio to dig himself out of trouble.

A flash of red caught his eye in the window reflection. A bloodstained white button-down laid in the back corner of the SUV. Derek cut his eyes away from it. Loyalty like Boyd’s didn’t come around often, especially when they knew exactly where shirts like that one had come from. He shouldn’t still be dealing with this shit. 

Derek focused back on business. “Remind me who I’m meeting with,” he drawled. Some corporate hospital suit he’d met at a fundraiser he’d barely been paying attention to, no doubt. J something, possibly. 

“Jim Curry. He’s the current CEO of HCA Healthcare, the current corporation that owns Northgate Hospital. You met at the Hale Corporation New Year’s Eve party. Their stock dropped recently making this hospital available to purchase at one of the best prices you’ll see. A big sale of a downhill hospital will help boost his approval rating with his board, so he’ll be pushing to see this through as much, if not more, than you.” Derek saw Boyd roll his eyes in the rearview mirror before he continued. “I swear Derek, I tell you about every meeting like I’m the two-minute ‘previously on’ segment before a T.V show.” 

“You remember the boring stuff so I can make the magic happen,” Derek answered with an arrogant tone, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “This hospital is a good investment regardless of what some certain on the HC board think. It shows we care about developing better medical care in a way that also reflects an interest in helping poorer communities. Northgate has the only working emergency room within ten miles. That’s life or death after a heart attack or car crash.” Derek’s head tilted up with his words. He knew it wasn’t Boyd he had to convince. Building a multi-million-dollar company meant that his larger decisions were subject to the approval of the board, and they weren’t thrilled about a mediocre hospital with run-down computer systems and equipment as a startup investment in medicine. 

If Derek could make this work, it would be revolutionary for the community. A community that doesn’t have a Walmart or access to fresh fruits and vegetables within five miles of any given house or apartment building. If the hospital generated enough revenue to overshoot the minimum needed to call the project a success, Derek planned on using it to fund a free clinic attached to the hospital for people in the community without insurance. He sold it to the board as free publicity and to Sergio as another addition to clean his dirty money. 

“We’re here, sir.” 

Boyd’s voice cut through Derek’s daydream. A glass building loomed outside his window. Derek’s eyebrows shot up.

“Nice building for this area. Especially for a hospital that’s supposed to have outdated machinery,” Derek pointed out. His head bumped the headrest behind him with a jolt. Boyd opened his door and stepped around to open Derek’s. Derek grabbed his phone off a nearby chair and stepped out the door. 

“I’ll pull the car into the garage, sir. Let me know when you’re ready to be picked up,” Boyd told him as he walked back to the driver’s seat. A short man in scrubs walked up to him hesitantly. 

“Are you Derek Hale?” 

“I am. And you?” Derek replied. The man introduced himself as Daniel Carberry, the newest attending at Northgate. He was meant to bring Derek to the meeting room where Jim Curry was waiting with a team of lawyers. The car engine started up and started getting quieter off behind him. 

“Don’t you have a team with you,” the man questioned, as if a team of suits was going to appear behind Derek the second that he turned away. 

A chuckle emerged from Derek. “No, just me. I don’t need anyone to help close this deal. Your boss is playing it safe. Lead the way.” Derek motioned towards the glass double doors in front of them. The man led him to a small boardroom with three men waiting inside. 

One of them stood and reached out a hand. That would be Curry then. Derek grasped it. “Derek, I’m glad you made it.” 

“Nice to see you again. So, what can you tell me about this hospital I’m buying?” Derek asked. Curry gave a forced chuckle in response.

“This area is gaining notoriety and attention from some powerful people such as yourself. The area may be struggling nearby but this is still prime real estate. The building is in prime condition. When it was built there was an understanding the future funding for equipment would be assured but when that fell through the exterior was too far along to change.” Curry rubbed his hands together as he sat back in his seat at the table between his lawyers. Derek took his own across the table. 

“This is a teaching hospital,” he continued, “and we do partner with a transfer program with New York University that allows students with a certain standing who graduate NYU to transfer here for a guaranteed three-year residency with supplemented living. A lot of residents choose this hospital as placement for that program which will remain valid once hospital, err, ownership changes. Assuming you want to keep it running,” he rushed to finish. “There plenty of exemplary doctors and residents employed here who would stun if provided with state-of-the-art equipment.”

Curry explained various things in the hospital. He discussed the number of employee’s as a whole and the lawyers beside him pulled up several spreadsheets explaining how the numbers break down to the number of needed nurses per shift and the total number employed as well as overtime allotted or needed to keep all shifts covered on an on-call basis. 

“I’m not planning on anyone losing their jobs because of this purchase, Jim. If anything, I except that after the upgrades, we’ll need to be hiring more,” Derek explained. Relief shown on Curry’s face. 

“I’m glad to hear that. The employees haven’t been told about the change in company let, so I suppose that will be your first order of business.” Curry turned to a folder of papers beside him. “All that’s left to do is the paperwork and it will be official.” 

The lawyer to Curry’s left announced that he would be performing the notarization with Lane as witness. Derek assumed he meant the suit across from him. 

“Alright, let’s get started.” 

* * *

A half hour of endless signing later, Derek was venturing into the lobby with the group of men with a hand cramp and a new hospital to his name. He shot a text to Boyd to pick him up outside the lobby.

“Hale Corp will take excellent care of this hospital, Jim. I hope the sell is as beneficial to you as it is to me,” Derek directed to Curry. 

“It is a wonderful new venture,” Curry responded diplomatically. He couldn’t very much admit to needing this sell to save his career, Derek figured. “Have an amazing rest of your day and I hope you will return for a tour sometime. Daniel acts as the sort of face of our staff and would be glad to give it.” Right, the attending who let Derek in. 

Curry turned to face him and raised his hand to shake goodbye. Derek went to grab it and a flash of red against stark white caught his eye. Lydia Martin was here? He followed her line of sight. 

A flurry of dark hair and freckles was walking to the glass doors where he could see Boyd waiting in the SUV. Long pale fingers were gripped tightly around a cell phone by his side. 

Derek took a few hesitant steps forwards. He could hear the confusing mumbling of Curry behind him.

It couldn’t be. But he had been a pre-med student when Derek saw him last, obsessively studying for the MCAT and guzzling coffee. And he just heard about the subsidized residency program Curry had been so proud of. Derek ran the math in his. If he kept to the schedule he always talked about, he’d be a third-year resident by now, maybe an attending.

The universe couldn’t be so cruel as to put him in this very hospital, could it?

It is really Stiles?

Stiles twitched slightly and kept walking. Oh, he must have said that out loud. Stiles wasn’t going to stop. He was headed to those doors like his life depended on it. 

No, Derek couldn’t let him leave again. Things were different now and this was a sign. Stiles, here, working in the very hospital Derek had fought so hard to buy. 

“Stiles.” He said it with purpose this time. 

He watched Stiles paused and take a breath. Nostalgia rushed through Derek. Stiles always used to do that when he was working up to something. Usually before a big test. 

Stiles met his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will resume with the conversation in Stiles' POV (which is what the bulk of the story will be in unless Derek's is requested) and it and later chapters will be a lot longer.
> 
>  **P.S.** I know that canon Derek may not write a smiley face on a Starbucks cup but my laptop won't let me add a html link from photos or my desktop so I can't edit anything. I'm relying on google images. 
> 
> **P.P.S.** If you have a good eye and notice that the cup is on a counter indoors when Stiles is suppose to be reading this outdoors, good job! See above point and then consider ignoring it.
> 
> Visit me on tumblr at [forgadgetsandgizmos](https://forgadgetsandgizmos.tumblr.com/)


	3. What Happens Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd - let me know if there's any mistakes and I'll fix them. Enjoy!

Stiles wasn’t sure what to do here. What’s the typical protocol for spontaneously and accidently meeting up with an ex who you thought you’d marry but left you in a hospital? Not even soap operas cover this. At least, not ones he’d seen. The tragedies tend to be more towards the amnesia style drama.

“How are you?” A question startled him out of his musing. Derek looked awkward, like he was folding in on himself. Well, good, Stiles thought. If Derek’s going to barge into his life, it’s the least he can do to not look so fucking _fine_. The years hadn’t been too rough on him. 

“Fine.” Stiles adjusted his bag and gave him a tight grimace in return. The low bustle of morning shift circling through the doors and murmur of all the other guys in suits was at the back of his mind. He liked his job and he needed the money. He couldn’t afford to make a scene. “It was, ah, good seeing you.” 

Derek caught the cuff of his arm before he could turn all the way to the doors. 

“Wait, Stiles. I just wasn’t expecting to see you he-“ 

“No, you weren’t expecting to see me anywhere, were you?” A hot, icky feeling filled Stiles’ gut. He felt his face turning red with the blood rush. He spoke in a harsh whisper. “You – “he cut off, jerking his arm out of Derek’s. “It’s been years, Derek. I have a life now and I see you do too. I suggest you get back to yours and I’ll get back to mine.” 

Stiles spun and headed for the doors. He watched a flustered Derek turn to the confused group of suits in corner of the lobby. 

He shoved open the glass door and stomped outside. Rain beat down hard onto his skin. He didn’t even have the shelter of jeep to escape to. It was still in the shop after he was rear-ended the week before and wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow, which meant he had the pleasure of walking two blocks to the nearest subway station in this fantastic weather the universe blessed this day with. He rubbed his arms in the cold, bag swung on his shoulder. It wasn’t very busy for a weekday morning, but that was probably due to the weather. Derek could’ve had the decency to magically reappear in the summer. June or July, perhaps, so May showers would be passed, and it would be a beautifully sunny, _busy_ , day full of crowds he could get lost in. A faint voice reached his ears. 

“Stiles, wait up!” 

Stiles could hear footsteps over the rushing of water just off the sidewalk. He didn’t stop to wait. If anything, he sped up. He couldn’t avoid the rain, he was already soaked through and he had barely left the hospital parking lot, but a confrontation with Derek? That, he could avoid. 

“Stiles, stop.” It seems Derek had caught up with him. “Stop!”

Stiles whirled around. “What?”

Derek didn’t even look slightly breathless even though Stiles knew he must have been at least jogging to catch up with him. Stiles had a head start. The suit he had admired a few minutes ago had darkened with water to the point of being practically black. 

Derek looked around as if searching for something. Stiles saw his mouth move but couldn’t make out the words. The sound was drowned out by the white noise of the rain. 

“I can’t hear you,” Stiles said, motioning to his ears. It proved to be a mistake, because the next thing Derek did was grab his shoulder and lean in until Stiles could feel his breath by his ear.

“Let’s go somewhere inside.” 

Derek jerked his head to a black SUV under a lamppost a few feet back. The question filled his face. Would Stiles follow? 

There was a time he would’ve killed for the chance. A time when you’d have to pull his cold, dead body away from the reunion. Stiles spent months agonizing over why Derek would leave him. They had talked about getting married when Derek finished business school. Derek had lost his family a few years before and Stiles’ family consisted entirely of him and his dad, so they were going to make their own.

Stiles couldn’t bring himself to hate those memories, even after everything. Despite the events, Derek had been the first person he loved besides his dad and Scott. Derek made him feel safe. That connection Stiles had been so sure of was what made everything so hard. In the weeks and months after the incident Stiles had pouring over their last few weeks together, looking for any sign of something wrong. But nothing was different. The night before the last time he saw Derek they had stayed up late to watch the newest Avenger’s film extended edition. Derek was half asleep and mumbled “I love you,” to Stiles before crashing in bed as soon as the movie ended. Stiles remembered thinking he had looked so innocent wrapped in the blankets. 

So, any notions, ideas, hints that Derek was going to leave him the next day in a hospital bed that Derek _knew_ still scared Stiles after watching his mom fall apart? 

No. 

Nothing. 

In the absence of any reasoning from Derek, his imagination and obsessive action movie knowledge filled the gaps. He was blackmailed by the robbers to get more money. He was kidnapped and the note left behind was a cover-up. Aliens were real and had taken a vested interest in Stiles’ boyfriend. They got less plausible as time went on. Seven years of time assured Stiles that no matter what caused Derek to leave, it was his choice, and nothing he could say short of saving the god-damned world could justify that. Today all he wanted was a warm shower. Oh god, a hot shower. The reminder of the cold one he was being forced to endure now broke him out of his thought. Derek was waiting on an answer.

Stiles nodded. Yes, he’d follow. Despite the years, he still had the brokenhearted confusion of an abandoned boyfriend to satisfy. He sent up a prayer that no one had touched his emergency cabinet vodka at the Superbowl party. He’d need the whole bottle tonight. 

He climbed into the back of the SUV a few seconds after Derek. He says SUV but it was more like a condensed limo. Instead of two forward facing seats like normal there was a small room-like area lined with leather seats. In the front, a barrier with a sliding tented-glass screen separated them from the driver. A flashing light alerted him to the presence of a mini fridge embedded in the divider, down and towards the driver’s side. It was mirrored by a typical car control panel. He turned to see flashes of white and red behind Derek’s body. 

Derek turned to face him with two white towels in his hand and handed one to Stiles. 

Stiles took one and started to towel off his dripping hair. He peered around Derek to see a seat where Derek had just been searching through. The back was folded down and a latch on the wall unattached. It was a weird way to have a storage area. Those were usually under seats on boats. Cars didn’t need them – that’s what the trunk is for. Though if Stiles was being honest with himself, he only knew that about boats from shows and movies, and he was far from rich. It could be standard for half-limo-half-SUV’s to have boat storage compartments. Stiles was more concerned with the growing pool of water dripping off his onto Derek’s leather seats. Was this even Derek’s? The Derek he knew could never afford this and wouldn’t want it if he could. He was independent, the kind of guy who didn’t even like having to list his uncle as an emergency contact. He moved the towel to try and soak up the water. 

“Don’t worry about,” Derek spoke, motion towards Stiles’ actions. “It’ll dry.” He fiddled with his own towel in between his hands. “I only have these two, but I flipped on the heat first thing. It’ll warm up soon.”

Stiles nodded his response. A pregnant silence filled the vehicle, the only noise the soft pitter-patter of rain on metal. 

“Why am I here,” Stiles finally questioned. “It’s been years since I’ve seen you and you show up at my work and chase me out into the rain?” He scoffed. “This isn’t a Taylor Swift music video.” 

“I know.” Derek sat forward on the edge of his seat, leg bouncing. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. I didn’t know you worked there.” 

“Then why were you there?” Stiles glanced around the SUV hybrid again. “And with those guys in suits and the Dean of Medicine?” It had to be a business deal of sort. Derek had wanted a job with a non-profit last he knew, but things had to have changed since then. No non-profit gig would put him in that suit, in this car, meeting with Stiles’ bosses, bosses, bosses, boss. Great-grandboss? No, not the point. 

Focus. 

“The dean joined us in the lobby. I was meeting with Jim Curry, the CEO of HCA Healthcare. That’s who owned Northgate Hospital.”

“I know,” Stiles snapped. “I work there.” Stiles hadn’t known, but hey, Derek didn’t know that.. 

Derek rested his hands on his knees. His wet towel dripped into a small pool at his feet. “I started a business that purchases and invests in local key business in up-and-coming areas to help them along. When the areas start gaining popularity and business picks up, we get a portion of the profit and resell fixed-up real estate,” Derek explained. 

Stiles’ eyes scrunched up. “You have a real estate business? That’s why you’re at my job on a Monday morning?” Buying stuff for cheap and then selling for way more seemed more like a pyramid scheme to Stiles. And about as far from a non-profit as you can get. Derek’s wording itched in the back of Stiles’ mind. They purchase local business, not just invest in them. When he was explaining who Jim Curry was, he had said owned and that means - 

“You _bought_ my hospital?” Stile’s eyes popped out his head. 

Derek winced. “I didn’t know it was yours!” He held out his hands as if to say, ‘how can I help that.’ Stiles couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This entire run-in was a giant accident and now, in a weird twisted way, Derek was his boss. 

“If this was such an accident, why follow me?” Stiles leaned back with a sigh. He turned his head to look out the window. They hadn’t moved, still parked under that lamppost. Two drops raced each other to the bottom of the window. He noticed the rain had started to let up. It was perfect timing to, because the streets filled up as people bustled about. Headed to work, no doubt. There was nothing like the consistency of his busy city. It wasn’t too far from Beacon Hills, but Rochester had more in common with New York than his hometown, especially the outskirts where they were now.

“Just because I wasn’t expecting to see you doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk. Things are different now. I’m different now.” Derek’s voice was soft. Tired. Stiles kept his gaze on the water drops on the window. “I’m sorry that I left seven years ago. I don’t know if you remember but I had told you about my Uncle Peter and his business, the one I wasn’t involved in. Well, Peter started that business up with a loan from a sketchy loan shark. About six months before it had stopped making money. It was in the red and going bankrupt. It turns out that loan was big money, no small change, the kind we didn’t have. Peter thought he’d make a profit and could pay it off, interest included, but with him having to file for bankruptcy, he couldn’t come close. I couldn’t access my inheritance and trust fund yet and Peter could only sign for an allowance amount.” Derek told the story with a monotone voice. No emotions peaked through. “It wasn’t near enough.” 

Stiles swallowed hard. Holy shit. This was his explanation; he was finding out what happened after he landed in the hospital. 

“I don’t know what you thought but when those guys attacked us that night, it was about that. They were goons of that loan shark hired to get his money back from Peter. But if they took out Peter there was no one to pay. So instead, they,” Derek broke off. Stiles fought the urge to look over at him. He heard Derek take a deep breath. “Instead they targeted me. You were in the way and they didn’t appreciate that I was with a man. They hit you over the head and dragged me off. I don’t remember what happened next. Peter things I was drugged. All I know is I woke up in a shitty hotel with a body full of bruises and a bag Peter had packed form me. I found out Peter had withdrawn as much as he could from my account and used it as a good faith ransom. He packed my bag and brought me to that motel. He told me we were leaving, and I agreed.” 

Stiles’ lips pressed into a thin line. “You agreed, just like that? Knowing I was hurt and had no idea what was happening and was expecting you home?” He didn’t know what to think. He had no idea that was going on. He had just assumed they were victims of a robbery gone wrong. His wallet was missing at the scene, he didn’t have any memory of the incident due to his concussion, and the cops never found any evidence to suggest otherwise. His dad told him Derek had made a statement with the police before he left and wasn’t a suspect but that’s all he heard. He never read the statement. But that doesn’t excuse Derek from leaving like that. He had responsibilities, school, an apartment. Stiles. 

“You have to understand,” Derek insisted. “I blamed myself for you getting hurt. I was the only reason we were targeted and without me, you would’ve been fine. No scars to remember it by because there would’ve been nothing to remember.”

Stiles’ hand flew to the white scar at his hairline. How did Derek know about that? It’s not like he stuck around for the healing part. 

“The shark was based Beacon Hills. Scary to us but small fry. Everything was under the table and he didn’t have endless resources to chase us. Skipping town meant he wouldn’t follow. If I stayed, even after Peter left, they would’ve come after me or you again. Only this time there wouldn’t be anyone to bail me out.” Derek’s voice grew more urgent, his words tumbling out faster. 

Stiles finally looked over to him. He shook his head. “That doesn’t give you an excuse to leave me –”

“They would’ve –

“to _leave me_ with no explanation and some shitty goodbye note in a hospital. Not even a fucking text!” Stiles was furious now. His hands gripped the seat edge so tight they turned white. How dare he – 

“Stiles!” Derek yelled this time. “They would’ve gone after you! Alone! They left your empty wallet with Peter to prove it. They kept your ID. You never found it, right?” He motioned towards him again with a hopeless look on his face. “That’s because Peter burned it. If you knew where I was,” Derek choked on the words. He bit his lip and buried his head in his hands. “I realize I did the wrong thing, but I was protecting you. In my own way, I was.” His next words were a harsh whisper muffled by his hands. “Forgive me.” 

Stiles had to fight back tears. He can’t just forgive Derek. He was heartbroken after that day. He spent so long expecting Derek to come home. He didn’t believe anyone who told him Derek wasn’t coming back, that he had left of his own accord. He spent so long harboring that intense anger mixed with love that wouldn’t go away and a feeling of betrayal that letting it go, right now, because of one sad speech on a rainy Monday? It felt like a betrayal of his own because of how hard he worked to get past those feelings and be alright again. He had to learn how to go on a date, have sex for the first time with someone who wasn’t Derek, to not wake up from nightmares and reach for the empty space beside him. 

“I worked really hard to get over you, Derek.” Stiles could barely hear his own words. “You can’t expect me to ignore every feeling I had because you had a reason you felt was justified. You still left me.” Derek raised his head up and met Stiles’ eyes. They were glossy and crinkling around the edges from where his eyebrows were twisting down. It made Stiles want to smile. He always said Derek’s most expressive trait was his eyebrows. 

“I don’t expect you to. How about an understanding?” Derek’s questioning voice turned up and got higher. Stiles thought he looked like a shy teenager on a first date, not sure what to ask or say or do. 

Derek may not have been kidnapped by aliens or blackmailed by serial robbers, but he didn’t leave because he didn’t care. It was the opposite, in fact. He cared too much. It didn’t undo Stiles’ pain or make Derek blameless, but it did answer his question of why. It wasn’t a bad answer. It was the backstory plot of a B-list rom-com and he did always root for the couple to have a happily ever after. 

“I can do that,” Stiles said with a hesitant nod. Seeing the smile that lit up Derek’s face was almost worth the awkward wet spots still spotting his clothes. Stiles glanced down at his bag. It certainly wasn’t doing his work shoes any good to be getting smelly in that. 

“I need to head home. It’s been a weird end to a long shift.” Stiles chuckled a bit. Weird doesn’t cover it. He moved to open the side door when Derek interrupted. 

“I can drive you,” Derek offered. “Unless you drove?” 

“No.” The drizzle didn’t look appealing from the warm air of the car. “That’d be good.” Stiles swallowed and gave Derek the address. Derek reached over to click a button on the control panel that opened the sliding glass panel. He repeated the address to the figure on the other side of the wall.

“Yes sir,” a deep voice responded. 

The car started up and pulled into the traffic on the main road. Stiles returned to looking out the window. It was only a ten-minute drive from the hospital to his place and they had made it almost two blocks by foot before. Stiles’ leg started bouncing with nothing to distract him. His adderall had long worn off by now. He pulled his phone out of the soaked bag at his feet and started fiddling with it. Thankfully it still turned on and seemed fine despite the water. His screen showed a series a missed text strain from Lydia. 

Lydia  
> He followed you  
> Did you make it home?  
> Did he catch you first?  
> Stiles, it’s been 20 minutes.  
> I have to start my shift but I’m texting Scott. You don’t need to be alone right now, and I know you won’t want to explain. 

He switched the screen back to the messages and saw the familiar red dot by his name. 

Scott  
> Dude DEREK?  
> Lyd tld me  
> SHIT text bck  
> I told Allison

He typed a quick message out to both of them. 

> I’m fine. He caught up with me. We talked. It was. . . enlightening. I’ll tell you about it tonight. 

He closed his phone and looked back out the window. They were pulling onto the street his apartment was on. He glanced over at Derek to see his leg bouncing as much as Stiles. 

“What is it?” Derek jerked at the sudden sound of Stiles’ voice in the silence. 

“Nothing,” Derek said quickly. 

“No, we aren’t doing this.” Screw seven years. This awkward silence thing wasn’t happening. “What?” 

“Can I get your number? We can meet for coffee, catch up?” Derek glanced up at him from under those big, bushy eyebrows he loved so much. Stiles suddenly remembered a lot of other activities involved him looking up from under those eyebrows that weren’t very, how to put it, situationally appropriate. He felt his face flush.

“Yeah, that’s fine. You have your phone?” 

Derek fished into his suit pocket and pulled out a sleep back iPhone which he handed to Stiles. Stiles opened the phone app and called himself. When the shrill ring filled the car, he handed Derek back his phone. 

“That’s me,” Stiles said. The car pulled to a stop as soon as he spoke. His apartment building loomed out the window, a comforting sight besides the weather. 

Stiles hand hovered over the handle. Was he supposed to say goodbye or promise to call? He wasn’t sure he could do either. A burst of wind hit his face before he made up his mind. A quite imposing man dressed in all black stood in front of him holding open a large black umbrella, despite the fact that the storm had calmed and the rain outside was barely a drizzle. It was a bright rain as opposed to the dark storm from earlier. 

“That’s Boyd,” Derek explained. “He’ll walk you to your door.”

“Um, okay.” True to Derek’s word, Boyd shut the car door behind him and walked him to the front door of his apartment. Stiles fumbled with his keys in the bottom of his bag. Once he finally found them, he unlocked the door and looked back at Boyd. 

“Thanks.” 

Boyd nodded swiftly and headed back to the car. Stiles paused inside the doors just long enough to watch the black SUV pull away. He somehow made it into his apartment door through the haze the events of the past half-hour caused to collapse onto his couch. Stiles closed his eyes.  
And then immediately opened them because now, right the hell now, the sun decided to come out, making his haze of darkness behind his eyelids a sheet of white light. 

Stiles’ head hit the couch back.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

* * *

Derek watched Stiles close the door into his building.

“Ready, sir?” Boyd called from the front. 

“Yeah, let’s go.” Boyd pulled away from the curb back out into the street. 

“You have a lunch meeting at 11:00. Are you still planning to attend?” Boyd glanced back at him in the rearview mirror. 

Derek sighed. “What time is it now?”

“Almost nine,” he replied. Derek suppose he shouldn’t skip out. This was only a half hour of his day and the lunch was still two hours away. What a hell of a half hour though. 

Seeing Stiles again was not what he expected when he ventured out today. He hadn’t been thinking when he chased him out into rain. His mind was full of _Stiles_ – of how much older he looked, how much more mature. His jaw line was more defined since he last saw him. He filled out his scrubs. All Derek knew was that when Stiles walked away this time there was nothing stopping him from following. 

So, he did. 

And he doesn’t regret it. He told Stiles the truth. Most of it, at least. How was he supposed to explain the truth about what he was involved in? Was still involved in? Not even Isaac knew the extent of what happened in those years before he turned twenty-five. Stiles couldn’t find out he’d lied again. He would never forgive him. He was as out as he could get, and he told Stiles everything he could know and still stay save. 

Sergio’s ‘favors’ were getting fewer and far between, but that doesn’t mean non-existent. He could do this. He could have Stiles, keep him a secret, and keep him safe.

“Sir?” 

Right. Boyd was waiting on an answer. 

“Keep the lunch,” he said with a nod. “Everything is fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/kudos bring me joy (:
> 
> Visit me on tumblr at [forgadgetsandgizmos](https://forgadgetsandgizmos.tumblr.com/)


	4. Delirium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles eats a muffin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoy! 
> 
> Not beta'd so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Beware of (not super graphic) sex scene during flashback. Also, full disclaimer, I've never written sex scenes before so don't judge too harshly.

“Do you need me to repeat it,” Stiles questioned patiently. He was met with the blank stares of Lydia and Scott from their spot on the couch across from him. 

After he got home Monday morning and collapsed on that same couch, he had woken up confused to a light shining in his eyes that told him it hadn’t been that long. Still daytime, at least. Two dozen texts on his phone told him asking what was going on told Lydia and Scott were still at work and couldn’t come by. He told them then he was still exhausted and didn’t feel like explaining the story twice, so they could come back together when Lydia was off work and he was going back to sleep in the darkness of his room, concealed from the sun with blackout curtains.

A loud bang had woken him up from _that_ sleep. Lydia and Scott were in his room in seconds, demanding him out of bed and into the living area he was in now. 

“This is a lot of information to take in. Give a girl a minute.” Lydia’s words were reinforced by the widening of her eyes and Scott’s slow nod. Lydia hadn’t stopped to change out of her scrubs. They ruffled against Scott’s arm in his jeans and hoodie combo. Scott’s phone that lay on the coffee table separating them with Danny on speaker. He was only in town for the Superbowl and had to head back to his work base in New Mexico Monday evening. 

“I know I don’t know him, and I wasn’t there originally, but you said he thought he was protecting you.” Danny broke the silence of the speaker. “That means he didn’t abandon you because of you or because he didn’t care.” 

“No, you weren’t there,” Scott retorted with a sneer. “You didn’t see the aftermath. He could’ve done a lot of stuff and still ‘protected’ Stiles. Burner phone still exist. A 30-second call could’ve saved Stiles and us a lot of grief and hangovers.” 

“A 30-second call? And said what, ‘sorry babe but I’m going on the run from a potentially murderous loan shark and goons. I can’t tell you where or ever see you again, but hope you get better soon,’” Stiles mocked holding a fake phone up to his ears. 

“Don’t defend him!”

“I’m not!” Stiles looked back at a red-faced Scott. “But you know me. Dad was still sheriff – we wouldn’t have let it go. _I_ wouldn’t have. I don’t agree with what he choose to do, all I’m saying is I don’t know what I would’ve done in his place.” Stiles let his head drop into his hands. 

A loud smack dragged his attention back up to peeved Lydia. 

“I think this situation calls for a drink,” she exclaimed. “Where’s the good whiskey?”

“We drank it.” Scott let out an exasperated sigh and ran his hand up the back of his scalp. He was met with short stubble. 

Despite the circumstances Stiles couldn’t help but smile. Scott did that all the time when he was frustrated or tired, but he cut his hair when Jenny started getting grabby not too long ago. It kept him from getting yanked down but left him with the shortest hair he’d had since high school. 

“I know where the vodka is, though.” Lydia rose and followed Scott into the kitchen. Stiles says kitchen, but his apartment was like a hollow rectangle. A long hallway entrance gave way to L-shaped space the kitchen and living room filled, left over from the quarter Stiles’ bedroom filled. 

Static erupted from Scott’s abandoned phone. “I’ll go then. Don’t get to crazy.” 

Stiles turned his attention back to Danny and leaned in until his mouth hovered close to the bottom of the phone. “We won’t, man. See you.” A flood of white as the screen changed signaled Danny had hung up.

It wasn’t long before a short, clear glass hovered in front of him. Lydia held her own drink in the opposite hand. Stiles accepted gingerly, nursing it in his hands. Lydia plopped down in her old spot on the couch. 

“You don’t have anything to mix.”

“Don’t I have orange juice?” Stiles twisted his head to look at Scott by the fridge. Stiles likes his morning OJ, but he had bought a gallon on Thursday and not even he drank it that fast. 

“Nope,” came his response. “We finished it off on Sunday.” 

Note to self: go grocery shopping. Straight it is. Stiles took a hesitant sip and immediately winced. Scott hadn’t meant Stiles’ emergency stash, he meant leftovers from Sunday night, which meant this was 100-proof Pinnacle and strong. Speaking of leftovers, didn’t they just get plastered Sunday night? 12 hours isn’t much of a recovery period. He voiced his concerns as Scott joined Lydia on the couch. 

“Hair of the dog is the best hangover cure out there.” Scott raised his own drink in hand as proof. “Can’t get a hangover if you never stop drinking.”

“And I had to work this morning, so I kept my drinking to a minimum,” Lydia added. “Down that. We got some decisions to make that are going to be much more tolerable drunk than sober.” 

Stiles looked down to the swirling liquid in his hands and shrugged.

Bottoms up.

* * *

A jolt jarred Stiles awake. Dizziness flooded his head when he turned to look for the source. He didn’t have to look far, thought. He lay on his bed, limbs entangled with long red hair and a familiar scruff of black. His head fell back on the pillow.

In hindsight, maybe that much vodka hadn’t been such a great idea. In his defense, he had been encouraged. Expected, even, to drown the day in a glass. It was one hell of a day to drown. Waking up to sunlight when the last thing he remembered was drinking at night was usually a sign of a night of fun but when drinking away sorrows? It meant a night of decisions he got the joy of making twice. Once drunk, and a second time sober when he could remember said decisions. 

He did remember some of the night, though. How they ended up cuddling in bed is unclear, but he remembered the debate about Derek and what to do if he calls. 

When he calls. 

He had meant what he said the night before. He didn’t agree with Derek’s choices, but he didn’t know what he would’ve done in his place. God, this was such a mess. He didn’t want to forgive Derek. That would be as good as erasing all the time he devoted to getting better and learning to trust again. But he couldn’t ignore him either, because as much as he likes to forget the ending, he had been head-over-heels for Derek. 

His twinkling eyes. The way his smile made his face light up. The uncanny way his eyebrows could say anything without words. How you could bounce a quarter off that ass (that had only gotten better) and yes, Stiles had tried. 

Stiles had prided himself on being able to read those eyebrows. Derek and he could have a full conversation without ever speaking, which never failed to annoy just about anyone. When Scott teased him about how much he’d talk about Derek, Stiles would always say it was payback for how much he had to listen about Allison in high school.

* * *

_“Freedom!” Derek’s voice echoed through the empty dorm hall. He had finished his last ever shift at the Starbucks around the street from Berkley. Most everyone had already cleared out for the weekend, considering it was a late Friday night on a three-day weekend._

 _“Can we burn it?” Stiles laughed, snatching Derek’s metal Starbucks name tag from where it hung loosely in his hand. Derek had been talking about quitting for months. It wasn’t like he needed the money. Peter had good about giving him his inheritance allowance lately and he had saved up over time._

_What had finally pushed him over the edge was his acceptance into an online fast-track master’s program for Berkley where Stiles attended. He wouldn’t have time to make coffee with his head in the books. Stiles couldn’t be prouder. He had seen the twinkle in those beautiful eyes when Derek announced his acceptance. Stiles hadn’t seen Derek that happy since their couple’s honeymoon phase._

_“It’s metal, Stiles.” Derek’s eyebrow quirked up. “I don’t think it’ll burn.”_

_Stiles’ lips flattened as he tried to suppress a smile. “Okay, smartass. Bury it, then.”_

_Derek tilted his head as if contemplating the suggestion._

_“That, we can do,” he smirked. Derek pressed his lips to Stiles’ even as the grin still lit up his face. Derek’s hands trailed up to cup Stiles face and keep him from pulling away from his kiss._

_Stiles laughed. He felt Derek’s own deep bass rumble against his chest._

_“Let’s get in the room,” Stiles mumbled as the kiss started to deepen. Derek fumbled with the doorknob to their back and flung it open right as Stiles started to step back into the room. He tore away from Derek to open his eyes and was blinded by the sudden rush of the florescent hallway lights framing Derek in front of him._

_Derek kicked the door shut and reached behind him to press the lock on door. A lack of squealed protests told Stiles his roommate was gone. That was for the better, Stiles supposed. They were friends, but not that good of friends._

_Stiles yanked Derek onto his bed by his belt loops since Derek’s hands still wrapped around him, preventing him from raising his own. He felt Derek’s dick pressed against his leg._

_“Off,” Stiles whispered with another tug, lips trailing down Derek’s neck. Derek complied, pulling off Stiles’ shirt with it. Though it was very far from their first time together, Stiles couldn’t help but admire Derek. There was no doubt in Stiles’ mind that he was dating out of his league. Broad, defined shoulders and six-pack leading into a sharp-v line._

_“You’re mine,” Stiles whispered, lips trailing down to Derek’s dick under his hands. He took his time, running his tongue in a circle on the tip, enjoying Derek’s moans of pleasure above him._

_Stiles felt Derek arch back onto the bed. Stiles brought his hand up and ran it over Derek’s chest the way Stiles knew he liked._

_“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek breathed. Stiles gave a pleased moan of his own, muffled by the cock his lips were wrapped around._

_It didn’t take Derek long to come. While Stiles did pride himself on his blowjob skills, it had been almost two weeks since they’d been together. They’d been so busy with school applications and Derek working as much as he could to save up before he finally quit that their schedule hadn’t quite lined up. He’d missed this closeness between them._

_Stiles joined Derek on the bed, smirking._

_“Talk about those 10-second sex scenes you’re always making fun of,” Stiles joked._

_“Let me reciprocate,” Derek requested, ignoring him._

_“Reciprocate,” Stiles repeated skeptically. “ACT word," he mocked._

_His boyfriend nudged his shoulder and arched an eyebrow down at him._

_Stiles smirked again. “Well, if you insist.”_

* * *

Stiles sighed to himself. He was going in circles. He had said all this last night and before. Remembering the past won’t help him make decisions now. Hopefully history doesn’t repeat itself that quickly.

He carefully untangled himself from the mess of limbs and climbed out of his bed. He opened the door just enough to slip through. It would be quite ironic if the sunlight was what woke up Lydia and Scott after all his effort to escape unnoticed. 

The contrast between his bedroom and the living area was a big one. Despite how long Stiles’ has had those blackout curtains, the step from bedroom to living room midday never ceased to blind him. 

Glass cups lined his coffee table and Lydia’s purse lay overturned by the couch, continents spilling everywhere. With an annoyed sigh, Stiles began the process of gathering the cups to place in the sink. It was a lot more cups than the three they started out with, but he couldn’t remember why they had almost every cup he owned dirty. He paused halfway through in order to refill Lydia’s purse. He saw a few breakable looking makeup boxes and did not want to deal with her wrath if he broke anything. 

When the last cup was in the sink he plopped down onto the couch. 

“Shit!” Stiles bounced up. Instead of the soft couch cushion embracing him like always, he was greeted with a hard dig into his lower back. It only took a second of searching to find the culprit: a small, black box wedge between the top and seat cushions.

Oh. It was his phone. A soft glow told him it still had battery. A red dot at the bottom of his screen haunted him. Seeing how two of the half dozen main people he talked to on a regular basis were collapsed in his head and the others either didn’t know or had already spoken to him last night, that only left one other option for the sender of that red dot. 

While half of last night remained largely a blur, he did remember the conversation about what to do if he was right about who this text was from. 

_“Answer soon, but not too soon.” Lydia drawled. “And go out, but non-romantically, and -”_

_“No drinking!” Scott announced with a raise of his glass._

_“No drinking,” Lydia agreed. “But no meal either! It has to be e-“A hiccup interrupted her speech. “It has to be easy to leave from. No sit-down food.”_

_Stiles nodded along to each word they said._

_“No fast food either. Too noisy and informal.” Stiles nodded faster, head lightly spinning._

_“Got it,” he said. “Casual, but not too casual. No drinking or being too enthusiastic or…” He drew a blank. What else was he missing?_

_“Being alone with him,” Scott filled in for him._

_“Got it,” Stiles repeated. “What does that leave?”_

_“Coffee?” Scott looked towards Lydia, swaying slightly._

_She gave a curt nod._

_“Coffee.”_

So, coffee then. Coffee was easy. Cozy but still public and not too informal as to stilt conversation. 

He could do coffee. 

He opened his messages. 

**Derek  
** > Can we meet up later this week? I would love a chance to catch up.****

****

He typed response, thumb hovering over the blue send arrow. 

**Stiles  
** > That would be good. Coffee?****

****

He clicked it before he lost the nerve to. The response was almost immediate. 

**Derek  
** > I know a great local place. I can send you the address if you’d like. Is Saturday good for you? ****

****

So polite. Stiles remembered a time when texting was half accidental recordings and half shorten words to the point of illegibility. Now it was like he was arranging a business meeting. But Saturday worked. Stiles will have finished his require number of shifts on third shift and would be back on first after this week, so he’d need to get used to not falling asleep right after work. Staying up for a coffee meet would hopefully help him knock out two birds with one stone. He’d been too nervous to sleep anyways. 

**Stiles**  
** > That works. How does 10:00 am sound?**

An affirmation from Derek confirmed it. His phone dinged again with a link to a coffee shop called Rembrant’s. It was a cute place about 20 minutes by commute from Stiles’ apartment. It opened recently and Stiles had been meaning to go, he just couldn’t justify that trip without a car. Too annoying. He’d have his ride back by Saturday, though. He hopes this won’t run the place afterwards. That would suck if their coffee is as good as some of the other residents at the hospital say it is. 

An alarm in the other room started blaring. Stiles glanced at the time on his phone. 7:30 am. It must be for Lydia, though he could’ve sworn she had work later today. Considering how late they stayed up, he didn’t know how she was functioning. He was relying on the fact that he could go back to bed in a couple hours. As long as he stays up until about midday, he’d be back on schedule for work. With Scott still on paternity leave from the veterinary office, all he had waiting for him was relieving his wife of their children. All things considered, Stiles thought that probably a good thing. No one wanted a hangover vet sticking sharp needles into their dogs. 

And speaking of alarms, it was far too early for his. As soon as Lydia and Scott were out of his bed, he was getting back in. They had stayed up until an ungodly hour which, ironically, was good for correcting his sleep schedule. 

A low bickering from behind the closed door told him they were awake. They would be out in a minute or two. He’d probably have to tell them about the coffee. 

_Bang_

“Shit!” Scott let out a string of curses, tripping out of Stiles’ bedroom with his ankle cradled in his hand. A half-dressed Lydia followed after him. 

“If you wouldn’t leave all your stuff blocking the doorway, you would’ve trip on it,” Lydia spoke curtly. She leaned around his still hopping form to head towards her purse by Stiles. 

“And if you wouldn’t set an alarm before the crack of dawn on a day when you don’t even work, I would have enough sleep to avoid it,” Scott retorted with a scowl. 

Stiles _had_ wanted normal last night and here it is. After the evening straight from a telenovela, he deserved a bit of normalcy. 

(He might have watched too much Jane the Virgin. Could one watch too much Jane the Virgin? Gina Rodríguez anyone? He rests his point.) 

Watching the two of them, hangover and squabbling like toddlers was as normal as it gets. The coffee meet was pre-approved, and it wasn’t until Saturday and it was Tuesday today. That’s a full week of anxiety and imagination fueled versions of how their conversation will play out. 

He’ll tell them about it later. For now, he had a Scott to save.

* * *

Stiles was a terrible friend.

It was five past ten on Saturday and he hadn’t told them. He almost had, but he kept chickening out. Somehow. this was something he needed to do on his own. He can’t help his own speculating but listening to the endless back and forth between Scott, Lydia, and even Danny that would be sure to follow if he told them would just confuse him. No one at work knew the backstory and there was no way in hell he was calling his dad. The sheriff had retired as sheriff last year after getting shot and having a heart attack on the table. While he survived, his blood pressure couldn’t handle this until Stiles had answers to every question he might ask.

He stood across the street from a brick, white building. He had parked about a half-block away. He wanted to scoop the place out without Derek recognizing the tale-tell blue of his jeep. Scarfs, briefcases, and jackets adorned the people around grated metal tables. 

Busy meant good, right? 

Stiles didn’t see Derek or his black SUV anywhere, but he guessed he had to brave the shop anyways. It wasn’t very adult like to hide behind a car across the street and he had to go in at some point. He couldn’t admit his version of handling things is chickening out before he got in the door. 

Stiles crossed the street and headed into the busy shop. A line curved around the corner of the shop. A glass pastries display stood by the counter. He scanned the room. 

Couples and people on laptops huddled around their drinks and food. He heard a barista yell in the background. 

It reminded him of the day he met Derek. 

Speaking of Derek, a hand popped up above the heads from a table in the back corner of the shop. He made his way back to him. 

Derek sat with his back to the room. In his hands was a small drink. A plate with an untouched muffin and another drink sat in front of him. 

“Sorry I was late,” Stiles said gingerly. He took a seat across from Derek. All the imaginative conversations in the world couldn’t prepare him for what this actually was. Even the purpose was unclear. In Stiles’ mind, Derek had already explained all he could. Nothing else could be added to make him process any faster. Which meant this was what, a meet up between friends? Not a date. 

“You’re fine. It reminded me of old times.” Derek shuffled his coffee back and forth between his hands. Stiles noted the movement with interest. Monday, Derek had been shy and nervous. He had hunched in and questioned everything he said like he wasn’t sure how Stiles was going to take it. Today, he was still nervous, but that hunched posture was gone. This was the Derek he remembered; confident and bold, and Derek knew it. 

“The drink and muffin are for you. Blueberry and a salted, caramel mocha with a shot of vanilla.” Derek motioned towards the set-up in front of him. “That is, if your order hasn’t changed?”

Stiles eyed it. It was his drink exactly, the same thing he’s ordered for years. He’d added the vanilla shot when Derek convinced him one day and it made the drink taste like melted ice cream in a glass. 

“Yeah, that’s still right.” Stiles picked up the drink and took a sip. It was lukewarm now but still taste amazing. If the situation was different, he might think it was even better than the one Derek made. “Thanks.” He left the muffin sitting in front of him.

“No problem. I hope it wasn’t too presumptuous, but I got here early, and the line was getting long,” Derek trailed off.

“It’s fine,” Stiles rushed to say. “I hadn’t been here yet. Their coffee is really good.” He held up his coffee as if presenting his case. He supposes one can never avoid awkward small talk. 

“Why are we meeting up, Derek? I know I agreed to come but you suggested this in the first place and I’m just asking why,” Stiles wondered. 

Derek nodded. “I know this is weird. I also know it’s been years and our lives are different now. The way events,” Derek hesitated, “ _unfolded_ in college is on me but that doesn’t mean that I wanted to lose you. I’ve missed you. I know things won’t be the same, but I’d like to have you in my life again. In any way you’ll have me,” Derek rushed to finish when Stiles opened his mouth. 

Stiles leaned back in his seat. 

“I’m not sure what I can give you,” Stiles finally answered. As much as he wanted that too, he couldn’t sacrifice his own mental health to give Derek peace of mind. Not that he’d tell Derek that. It would mean admitting he’d gone to therapy in the first place. Derek had been trying to get him to go to talk about his parents before everything happened. 

“You don’t need to commit to anything. We can talk entirely on your terms, as friends. I assume that our history isn’t something a lot of people around here know.” Derek smiled slightly and took a sip of his drink. “I would like to think I know you and you’ve never been good at talking about serious stuff, so I assume no one here knows who I am. You could tell your co-workers I’m a friend from college you’re reconnecting with since I moved into town. Everyone will accept that, and you wouldn’t have to answer any questions you aren’t ready for.” He got more animated as he spoke, and Stiles could hear pride in his voice. It seemed Derek had spent just as long thinking about this meeting as Stiles has. Stiles wasn’t letting him off that easy, though.

So, Stiles scoffed. “You mean so no one will accuse you of being a jackass.” 

As soon as he saw Derek’s face fall, he regretted it. 

“No,” Derek insisted. “That’s not- “ 

“Don’t,” Stiles cut Derek off. He snickered into his coffee. “I know what you meant.” 

Derek let out a relieved sigh at Stiles’ words. 

“Okay,” Stiles started. “Aren’t you some hotshot businessman, though, whose time is money or whatever? You got time for little old me,” Stiles questioned jokingly. A crack in his voice on _me_ revealed the truth in his words. He wasn’t sure what his place was in Derek’s life anymore. In Stiles’ experience, if you can betray someone once, you can do it again. He would’ve trusted Derek with everything once. But once wasn’t now. 

Derek’s face softened. “Always,” he proclaimed. A wistful expression filled his face. That face, well, Stiles knew that face. Derek’s dreamer face. Stiles trusted that face. He felt a lump in his throat and took a quick sip of his mocha. 

Stiles made up his mind then. Derek was by no means excused from the shit Stiles dealt with because of his decision that day, but that face told him everything he needed to know. 

Derek may have gotten buff (well, buff _er_ ) and rich and power out the ass, but he was still the young barista that sat in Stiles’ jeep on a rainy night and _dreamed_. 

Stiles bit his lip. “I have something to tell you, not to make you feel bad, but because if we’re going to be friends, I have to get it off my chest.” 

Stiles held up his hand when Derek opened his mouth to speak. 

“Let me talk,” he began. “I don’t trust you, Derek. Not like I used to. Maybe I won’t ever really again.” The barely hidden recoil that went through Derek brought Stiles a bit of chaotic joy. “I placed my long-held belief in bedtime stories and Disney endings in some naïve love for you and you shattered that into so many tiny pieces,” Stiles broke off and darted his eyes up to the ceiling. His was getting too emotional and that wasn’t the point – Stiles knew everything he was saying. This was for Derek.

“The world would’ve done that anyways. My childhood wasn’t perfect, and my adulthood matched. The fact that it was you, after everything you listened to me say about my insecurities, that’s what hurt. If we’re going to be friends, we have to be friends. Nothing extra. No lies, from _either_ of us,” Stiles clarified. “And if you agree to that, we can be friends.”

“That sounds good,” Derek readily agreed. It made Stiles laugh. He acted like a puppy getting a belly rub after a stern talking to because they peed on the carpet. A weight lifted; one Stiles hadn’t even noticed was still there. He was privately very happy he could report back to Scott and Lydia that he said that. 

He couldn’t help but flashback to his college philosopher’s favorite saying; Tabula rasa. 

“Let’s talk then.” Stiles leaned back into his seat, pulled his muffin towards him, and started to dig in. It was the type with crystalized sugar on top and it crumbled beautifully. If it was as good as it looked, he had a feeling he’d be making the drive here often. 

“Talk?”

“That’s what friends do, isn’t it?” Stiles took a bite of his muffin and practically melted. It was _heavenly_. Oh yes, there would be a lot of late morning stops here. “I figure we have a lot to catch up on,” he mumbled, mouth still half full. 

“That we do,” Derek pointed to the muffin in Stiles’ hand. “Is it good?” 

“Oh god, yes,” he praised. “I think it beats the one from that place around the corner from the Starbucks, it was called. . .” Stiles trailed off, mind blanking. 

“60 Beans,” Derek offered. 

“That’s it! I loved that place.” 

Stiles noticed Derek looked more comfortable now that Stiles had accepted him, or his proposal at least. His body was more relaxed. He had finished his coffee and was nursing an empty cup. Stiles couldn’t see through the cup, he hadn’t gained superpowers, awesome as that thought might be, but Derek had stopped inching his hand down lower on the cup and resting it on the table. He tapped a rhythm on it with his finger, haphazardly tossing it back towards the center when he noticed what he was doing. No one treated a cup full of sticky, hot, or lukewarm, liquid like that, even mysterious businessmen with chauffeurs. 

“I remember. You’d always go there five minutes before they closed to get a coffee,” Derek added.

“They hated me!”

“They did.” 

Stiles finished off the last crumbs of his muffin and brushed off his hands. 

“How did you end up buying the hospital I work at,” Stiles inquired. 

“The company that owned it before ran out of funding after the building phase. I explained what my company did, right?” 

“Right,” Stiles confirmed.  
“We’re stepping in with funding for the materials. The hope is that we can turn the area around. There’s great potential here. This place is less of a project and more of a sure bet. I mean, look at this coffee place, it’s bustling.” Derek motioned around him to the full tables surrounding them. “My hope is that once we start generating revenue, we can funnel some of it into a free clinic attached to the hospital that would be available for people without insurance,” Derek gushed. 

Derek looked so happy about the idea Stiles didn’t want to remind him he had already told Stiles this in the car. He just grinned back. 

“That sounds amazing,” he praised. “How would it be staffed?” 

“We would hire a nursing staff for the clinic and, since the clinic won’t be open 24 hours like the hospital, one full-time doctor. Residents would split time at the clinic depending on need; one shift per week or two weeks. If everything is successful, we can hire another doctor or rotate ones from the hospital on a monthly basis. People who are willing, of course,” he assured Stiles. His eyes lit up as he explained. His excitement was infectious – Stiles couldn’t help but smile too.

They kept talking until Stiles felt a buzz on his leg and checked his phone. It was Scott, asking where he was. Allison had the kids so he surprising Stiles at his apartment with a late breakfast and found it empty. 

Stiles couldn’t wait to explain why he wasn’t there. He let Scott knew he had gone out for coffee and would be back in 15. He glanced up at the time to see it was almost eleven. 

Stiles’ eyes widened. Him and Derek had been talking for almost an hour. 

“You need to go?” 

Stiles’ head snapped up to look at Derek. He was looking pointedly at Stiles’ phone. 

“Yeah,” he replied. He tucked his phone into his pocket and picked up his empty plate and cup. Derek followed suit and they dropped the trash off at the area near the exit and made their way outside. 

The sunshine flooded Stiles’ vision. He jerked his hand to his left. 

“My car’s half a block that way.” 

Derek nodded. “My car will be here in a minute.”  
Stiles shoulders shifted away from Derek, awkwardly lingering. They hadn’t really said goodbye, but he wasn’t sure what kind of goodbye you gave an ex-lover-now-friend you hadn’t seen in years. Derek did it for him before he had to. 

“It was good talking, Stiles. I’ll text you,” Derek stated. Stiles heard the silent question; Would Stiles answer?

“That sounds good,” he answered; Yes, he would. 

He turned and headed back towards his face. Obstacle one, conquered. Point to Stiles. It wasn’t too long before the familiar blue of his jeep caught his eye.

He sighed. Now all he had to conquer was telling Scott and Lydia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tabula Rasa is latin for blank slate. It's a philosophical theory about the state of the human brain before learning. 
> 
> Comments/kudos bring me joy (:
> 
> Visit me on tumblr at [forgadgetsandgizmos](https://forgadgetsandgizmos.tumblr.com/)


	5. Behind the Scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets a bug bite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was strangely hard to write. I hate it when anything I read doesn't build up character relationships before the action, so I wanted to include my version of that, but also. . . wow, it's harder than I thought. It didn't help that I got sidetracked with having to move because of the coronavirus craziness and then got obsessed with Malex from Roswell: New Mexico. 
> 
> Good news though! I have the entire plot/action (whatever you want to call it) part of this planned out and have for a while, so I think I'll have anymore issues. 
> 
> Not beta'd, so there may be some mistakes. If you see any, let me know and I'll fix it. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy!

_Sheriff John Stilinski was (not so) patiently waiting for the familiar rumble of a blue jeep pulling into his driveway._

_Even though Stiles had been in college a couple years now and Berkeley wasn’t too far aways, he had yet to bring anyone home. Not even his roommates had made the cut. John getting a call about meeting Stiles’_ boyfriend? _That said a lot._

_John knew Stiles missed Scott. Stiles had never been the type of kid with a dozen friends and, until Allison came along, it had always been the two of them – Stiles and Scott._

_John could finally admit that, after Claudia, he hadn’t been the most present dad. He did the bare minimum; he got Stiles to school, went to work, put food on the table. But a Claudia-shaped hole in his chest left him disconnected. Those first few years, he spent half his nights in a bottle and the other half barricaded in his office. But he got better. Stiles and he had a dozen conversations, both drunk and not, about that period of his childhood. He knew Stiles understood and forgave him, knew that his dad loved him beyond comprehension. John was the best person he could be, now._

_And that means sitting on his couch still dressed in full uniform, gun holster and all. He could have changed - his shift ended an hour ago - but John had left it on. He knew he was getting up in years, but he still reserved the right to put some fear into anyone knocking on his door for Stiles. And by golly, he’d seen a few pictures of Derek over the years and he wasn’t the scrawny kid John still pictured. John was meeting him, all right, and he was doing it with a gun._

_Stiles had insistent over several phone calls that this wasn’t a big deal so please don’t make it one and that no, he didn’t need to clean, and to please not ask Derek about his family._

_John swallowed the lump in his throat that always accompanied that memory. Derek_ Hale. _He remembered the Hale name and a skim of his old file told him that Stiles’ Derek and the soot-covered boy in his memory were one and the same. John remembers how hot the fire was, remembers holding Derek back from running into it. He remembers holding that same, sobbing boy as the firefighters carried out black bag after black bag. Claudia had held John in their shower hours later as he wept for that family, for those kids._

_John knew returning to Beacon Hills was no happy homecoming. Not for Derek Hale. Yet, here John was, waiting for Derek to knock on his door. It was for Stiles, John knew. There’s no other reason anyone would want to face this town again._

_A sudden silence filled his ears. The jeep had pulled up while he was in his head and he hadn’t noticed until the engine was cut off. The sound of doors slamming shut and low voices prompted John to head towards the door. He could make out their whispering through the thin wood separating them._

_A hushed, deep voice broke through. “Wait, Stiles, my – “_

_“You look great, babe, chillax.” That’s John’s son, alright._

_“Chillax isn’t a word.”_

_“I just said it, that makes it a word.”_

_John’s lips twitched upwards. Yes, it said a lot, this meeting._

* * *

_John had barely finished loading the leftovers into the fridge when a high-pitch scrap pierced the white noise of the faucet. He spun around just in time to see Derek cringe and slowly slide the last plate into the dishwasher before closing it with a soft thud._

_“I’m surprised my son doesn’t get onto you for leaving the water running while you do the dishes,” John quipped as Derek shut the faucet off. “He’s always on me about it when he’s home.”_

_“He does, sir,” Derek chuckled nervously. “I’m working on it.”_

_John had to admit he took a little joy from the hand-fidgeting Derek was doing. “I do the same thing, it’s a hard habit to break.” He lowered his voice to a hushed whisper. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”_

_“Deal.”_

_“I’m surprised he fell asleep. He usually enjoys those superhero movies,” John noted, glancing back to the couch holding his sleeping son._

_“He does, he’s just tired. He stayed up late last night studying for an exam this morning.” Derek’s hands fell still as his gaze followed John’s._

_John shook his head. “Never stopped him before. That boy has stayed up all night on some,” John paused, searching for the right word, “questionable projects.”_

_Derek’s hand flew to his mouth to muffle his laughter. “He’s told me about some of those. He’s pretty proud of that essay on the history of male circumcision.”_

_“Oh, don’t get me started,” John groaned softly. “I had to go to a parent-teacher conference for that!”_

_Derek shoulders shook harder. He crossed his arms in front of him and leaned back against the counter. “Whenever either of has have a bad day, we watch stuff feel-good stuff, favorites and rom-coms, and point out all the plot holes glazed over with ‘movie magic.’” Derek’s lips twitched upwards. “Sometimes we do it until we fall asleep, so. . .” he trailed off._

_“He’s used to falling asleep with movies on,” John finished, nodding in understanding. “You good to go out on the porch? We can talk without waking him.”_

_Derek leaned forward and paused, as if to say, ‘after you.’ John took the hint and let them outside, gently easing the door shut behind them. When his eyes skimmed over Derek, he noticed his tapping was back, though this time he was rapping a finger against the deck rail. It must be a nervous tick._

_The old wood creaked as he stepped up beside Derek. He took in the quiet street under the full moon._

_“My son hasn’t told me much about your relationship. Though, I suppose no kid wants to talk about romance with their dad,” he acknowledged. Derek huffed beside him._

_“I got the sense this visit was a sore spot for him. He didn’t explain why, but he didn’t have to.” Derek opened his mouth, but John cut him off before he could speak. “You don’t need to say anything, just let me talk. I don’t know if you remember me,”_

_“I do,” Derek surprised him by interrupting. John wasn’t expecting an acknowledgment, and, hesitated, waiting to see if Derek would continue._

_“I don’t blame you for not wanting to come back to this town,” John continued after a beat. “I don’t image it holds goods memories. It’s just been me and Stiles for a long time. After Claudia died, if Stiles hadn’t needed me, I would have never come back to this house. I barely did, even with that responsibility.” John looked down, cheeks slightly flushing with shame. He wasn’t proud of this, but that period of his life shaped him, and he needed Derek to hear this. “That kid had to grow up quick. He learned to take care of his people, and that includes you now. I can see that he’s good for you, and you deserve that. He will sideline everything to help you, but you have to be open to that, to him.”_

_John cut off, his face scrunching up despite his effort to straighten it. He didn’t think Derek was watching but couldn’t be sure. This wasn’t coming out right. All he could see of Derek without looking up was pale fingers tinged in blue from his grip on the wooden rail, and he wasn’t risking eye contact to see more of his reaction. He was already edging into lecture territory, and he wasn’t trying to give parenting advice._

_“I worry about the toll it will take on him if you aren’t ready for his help,” John summed up. He cracked his fingers in an attempt to signal he was done, but Derek didn’t move._

_John headed back inside. He said his piece and it wasn’t his place to keep talking. His hand hovered on the doorknob._

_“I like you, Derek. You’re a good guy.” His voice grew even softer, so low he doubted if Derek could even hear him. “Don’t break his heart.”_

* * *

The butt of the gun was digging into Derek’s back. Not for lack of a comfortable chair, because a meal at the up-scale restaurant he was currently sitting in would probably cost a normal person a week’s salary. In the daylight, during lunchtime, it reminded him of a showy museum.

While he was used to carrying his Glock 19 (he had a concealed carry permit and half a dozen holsters for it), this is the first time he’d needed anything bigger in months. He needed more firepower and a double stack, hence the maddening, ever-present pressure. It worked though, short-term, for the job he was doing. 

Bodyguard. 

It was job he hadn’t gone in years. Derek supposes he was being pessimistic; He wasn’t technically acting as a bodyguard – those would be the muscle covering the exits and driving Ramirez’s bullet-proof cars. – but having a seat at the table and nursing a glass of bourbon doesn’t equate power. 

As Derek was a prominent businessman in his field, he was here as assurance that this meeting he was sitting in on was above board. Conveniently, he also provided an alibi for the reason John Harrison sat across from him. As the current member of the real estate commissions board of California and the commissioner for Santa Clara county, he couldn’t exactly pencil in Sergio Ramirez, a known crime lord gracing half a dozen local and international watch lists.

“You don’t understand what you’re asking me.” Harrison’s exasperated voice echoed in the empty room. He was a short man, slightly overweight, and red in the face from the verbal beating he was taking from Ramirez. He had been late – a brave thing to do for such a small man. A meeting with Ramirez wasn’t a meeting one often dared run late to. 

Derek directed his attention back to the conversation at hand. He had been tuning out his pathetic protests. He had already heard everything direct from Ramirez when he was told he’d be attending this meeting a few hours ago. 

“I understand perfectly,” Ramirez glowered. “I need that land, commissioner, and I need it yesterday.” He leaned into the booth at his back. 

Derek had always thought he was the picture of immaculate wealth, and in a situation like this, it had never rung truer: an impeccably tailored suit, silver cufflinks, and an Arturo Fuente cigar in his suit pocket. It was his favorite brand, and he was never far from one. Derek still remembered the first time Ramirez gave him one. It wasn’t a memory Derek looked upon fondly. 

Ramirez motioned to a man waiting nearby. A full, orange envelope was placed on the table in front of Harrison, who swallowed at the sight. 

“I will, of course, compensate you for the rush,” Ramirez slammed his hand over the envelope when Harrison tried to reach for it. Harrison jerked back so fast he knocked his glass over, the dark liquid spilling on hardwood floors. “assuming you are able to deliver,” he finished. 

Derek felt no pity for the man. He had been on the receiving end of that harsh voice and he was in rush to be so again. Harrison’s Adam’s apple visibly wobbled, but Ramirez interjected again before he could speak. 

“I encourage you to consider the consequences of an answer that is not pleasing to me. After all, you have so much to lose.” Another man at stepped up at the words and laid an iPad on the table. 

Harrison’s eyes darted to the door. 

“Look.” 

Derek knew it was not a suggestion. The angle of the screen was too tilted for Derek to make out the picture, but a small human figured appeared to be moving around. He figured a recording, perhaps, or a live screen. 

Whoever that person was to Harrison, it sure made him mad to see them on screen. Derek hadn’t thought it possible, but somehow, he turned an even deeper shade of red. His eyes twitched, his back arched. 

Ramirez just smirked. A familiar expression – bingo. 

“I’ve worked with you for _years_ ,” Harrison sputtered. “I’ve been loyal, how dare you – “ 

“How dare _IDer_ , there was no attending! Just me, in a room, with a scrub nurse and my brain and my scalpel!” 

Stiles didn’t notice. He just kept talking. 

Derek noticed. 

It represented hope that he’d get back what he’d so stupidly thrown away.

On second thought, he could drive himself. His garage wasn’t too far from here, and it meant he wouldn’t have to pass Stiles and backtrack, wasting half an hour, and maybe only be half an hour late or so. He tapped on the glass separating him and the taxi driver to give the new address. He hoped Stiles wasn’t too mad.

* * *

Stiles thought life was going well. Recently, at least. He knows he wants declare his focus as general surgery (if he’s being honest, the ruptured appendix he got to take out last week _by himself_ was the highlight of his month), he had only been late to work because of an early morning trip to Rembrandt’s twice in last three months, and Scott and Lydia finally stopped giving him lectures every time he responded to a text from Derek in their presence.

He was thankful for that. It had immensely increased his enjoyment of sending Derek memes of rich, business guys embarrassing themselves. 

That first time without the look of disappointment from his friends was second only to the day Derek had stopped responding with awkward, polite tact and started sending back his own videos of people complaining about student debt. 

As much as it had hurt Stiles’ pride to admit it… touché, Derek. Touché. 

He did discover Rembrandts makes a lot more than coffee and muffins. For instance, the entire glass cabinet of over-priced homemade truffles of every flavor. He was on a mission to try them all. That is why he is currently spending ten dollars on two smores’ truffles and a mocha. 

It’s for a good cause, really. How is he supposed to recommend the best one if he hasn’t tried them all? 

Plus, he had the time, much to his annoyance. He was meeting Derek and weren’t supposed to be eating at Rembrandts, just meeting there. Derek was picking him up for a Giants game in San Francisco City. One they would barely make if Derek didn’t deign to show up. They were already barely going to make it. Stiles had a shift at the hospital and came straight here after it. 

The blue glare of Stiles’ phone screen filled his vision again. Derek hadn’t let Stiles know he’d be late or bothered to respond to some odd, half-dozen texts Stiles had sent him. Stiles’ personal form of comfort was currently taking the shape of the truffles the barista had just handed him. 

Derek better show up soon. Otherwise, Stiles was going to drag his ass out of that pompous apartment of his by the ear. There was no chance in hell Stiles was going to have to hear Scott say, “I told you so.”

Stiles sat at a small table in the back with a clear eyeline to the door. He had a sneaking feeling the aforementioned lack of responses meant he was going to have plenty of time to eat said truffles in the café. 

And low and behold, guess who was right (Hint: it was Stiles). 

Derek was 45 minutes late. _45 minutes._ That’s practically an hour. 45 minutes of sitting on a metal chair nursing a now-cold coffee before a familiar dark head of hair walked in. To Derek’s benefit, he seemed frazzled. He was dressed nice – but, no, Stiles reminded himself, that doesn’t mean anything. Derek is rich. These days, he’s always dressed nice – and his eyes found Stiles immediately. Stiles waited until Derek got a few feet away from him to speak. 

“Your delayed ability to type a ‘hey, I’m going to be late’ text doesn’t equate permission to leave me sitting here like I’m the poor, loveless girl in the beginning of every rom-com ever.” Stiles looked to Derek expectantly. 

Derek gave a little laugh and motioned between them. 

“Does that mean we’re about to have our love story montage?” 

Derek winced at Stiles’ blank stare in response. “Okay, let me explain.” 

“It better be good.” Stiles leaned back and the chair creaked with the pressure of him putting full weight against it. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” Derek tilted his head back to the door. Stiles wanted to laugh at the gall. 

“There’s no way we make it to the game. No amount of money can _bend time._ ”

Derek shook his head. “Not there. I drove and parked around the block – go for a drive with me?” 

Stiles’ eyes darted over Derek’s form again, taking everything in. The ruffled suit but lack of tie, the hunch of his back, the way his eyebrows seemed to burrow together and lift up in question at the same time. It made him look young and hopeful. Stiles sighed and nodded, heat flooding his face at Derek’s relieved smile. 

They dropped off his plate and drink on their way out. The streets were bustling – days like this reminded Stiles of how much he loved his city. Sunshine flooded the streets, showing off the happiness that comes with the weekend on every face. 

“-be _late!_ ” 

A harsh elbow in his back accompanied the voice. Hands steadied Stiles before he stumbled forward into the traffic of the street. Stiles’ hand flew up to rub the ache where the passing woman had stumbled into him. Stiles made an amendment to that statement: happiness on _most_ faces. 

“You alright?” Warmth radiated from where Derek’s hands still rested on Stiles’ shoulders. 

“Yeah, I’m used to it, though I usually pay more attention,” Stiles responded with a shrug. “It’s the cost of life in the city. Besides, anything worth doing outa be worth dealing with a few bruises.” 

“I agree,” Derek purred, “but I prefer my bruises to remind me of more. . . intimate interactions.”

Stiles’ gut burned in response. He knew _exactly_ what kind of bruises Derek meant. He cleared his throat. “Let’s uh, let’s get going. Where’d you park?” 

“About a half block down,” Derek responded, head tilting behind him. The shrill _ding_ signaling the opening of the door to Rembrandts reached Stiles’ ears before being lost in the hustle of the busy street. 

“Let’s get going then.” Stiles didn’t want to linger in the doorway any longer than they had to. One elbow to the back was enough for one day.

* * *

If he had to freeze one memory in his mind as ‘summertime,’ this would be it. They’d had to park at an abandoned church a mile back and climb down a stone trail, but it was worth it. It was an oasis. Green was everywhere – in the grass so tall it reached half up his calves, in the new leaves on trees and bushes, flanking the blooming flowers there. A cliff dropped off fifty feet ahead of them, a small river filling the area. It looked shallow and rocky, not exactly a river someone would want to jump in.

It was a far cry from the city - there was no lingering gas smell from cars in standstill traffic, no honking and screaming filling the air, no power lines casting shadows down on passerbys. 

Grass crunched softly behind him. “It was the first place I found outside the city when I moved here for work,” Derek said softly, “It reminds of happier times.”

Stiles met Derek’s eyes, glinting with a whirlwind of emotions he couldn’t begin to guess. There was a time he wouldn’t have had to wonder; a time Stiles would have known what was going through that brain before Derek himself. Now, they were a mystery, shrouded in almost a decade of experiences Stiles wasn’t privy to. It was strange. 

“How did you even find this place?” 

Derek’s cheeks flushed a light red. “Boyd found it for me. He finds a place like it in every city I go to.” 

“Wow,” Stiles snickered, “Our lives have been really different, haven’t they?” Stiles lowered himself onto the grass at the cliffs edge and Derek followed suit. 

“I’m glad you got the job at Northgate. I had wondered,” he trailed off, unsure. “I had _hoped_ everything worked out. You were always so excited when you talked about residency.” 

Stiles grinned. “It’s awesome.” 

“I’m glad.” 

The soft crashing of water against rocks filled the silence between them. Stiles didn’t know what to think. This place, it was – a thought occurred to him. What this place reminded him of, it’s the house, the Hale house, and the woods around the area. He shook the thought away. It didn’t matter why they were here. Derek’s explanation on the drive here about why he was late was a jumbled mix of ramblings about work and deadlines. 

God, but this place. It told Stiles more than anything Derek could have on that drive and he knew it. The last couple months had been easy, so easy. They slid back into old patterns, joking around and stumbling into 24-hour fast food chains buzzed at weird hours. It was refreshing.

They spent half a dozen nights talking until the sun rose. They had plenty to cover, a decade’s worth. Stiles listened to Derek complain about pompous co-workers in between his own walkthroughs of whichever surgery he was part of that day. 

There were so many issues between them, ones Stiles didn’t think could ever be resolved. When he thought about them, together, his heart swelled so much he thought it would burst. 

Stiles’ eyes wondered. Shadows from trees around them danced across Derek’s face. He took in the clenched jaw, five o’clock shadow, and tense shoulders.

He didn’t see _his_ Derek. His Derek was vulnerable and open. He shared everything with Stiles and made Stiles want to share everything with him. 

This Derek was the one behind that front he met in that meeting at Starbucks. This was the Derek that lied to him for months about sharing the same hometown, the one with walls worthy of empires guarding him after what Kate did. 

What happened, he wondered, to erase the progress they made? 

“What do you want?” Stiles spoke softly, eyes not willing to meet Derek’s. 

“Us,” Derek admitted. “I know I messed it up and I don’t have the right to say that, I _know._ But it’s like everything I do just. . . traps me even more.” 

“Traps you?” Stiles heard the edge in his voice but couldn’t bring himself to care. “You’re an adult, Derek, who makes his own decisions. If you don’t like where you are, change it. You’re the only one who can.”

Derek was slowly shaking his head. “It’s not that simple – “ 

“- It is, Derek. I may not understand your world, but it’s not so different from mine. Those people, the executives, the guards, even that shitty loan shark you want me to blame for a decade of pain that _you_ caused, they don’t matter. They will make their choices regardless of yours.” His voice was trembling now, laying bare every emotion running through him. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Stiles’ head snapped back to Derek. 

“I thought everything I was doing was justified, and I still do,” he said, voice barely legible. Derek’s eyebrows furrowed so deep they obscured his eyes. “I made the choice I thought was best, but I get that we aren’t in a movie. Means don’t justify the action. I’m sorry.” 

“Best for you,” Stiles murmured. 

“What?” 

“Best for you,” he repeated, louder. “Did you ever think I would surprise you? Stop and think to yourself ‘Maybe this is a problem we can solve together, Stiles and I.’” He licked his lips and squared his shoulders before continuing. “I would’ve helped you with anything, done anything you asked of me.” Still would, Stiles knew, not that he’s ready to tell Derek that. A bird chirped nearby, seemingly echoing his sentiment. 

Derek inhaled sharply next to him before standing abruptly. Stiles made a sound of confusion but did the same. 

A hand reached out towards him. 

“What’s this?” 

Derek laughed. “A handshake.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Obviously, I mean. . . why?” 

“Humor me.” 

Stiles met Derek’s reassuring eyes and offered his own hand in response. He was rewarded with a firm grip. 

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Derek Hale,” he said lightly. 

“Stiles,” he said hesitantly. He still wasn’t quite sure what was going on. 

“I’ve noticed you at Rembrandts. I’d ask you out for coffee, but I think you have that covered. How about dinner?”  
Stiles met Derek’s steady gaze again, eyes crinkling at the corners. He bit back a cheeky response at what he saw. 

“That would be nice,” he said slowly, lips turning up at the corners. The grin that lit up Derek’s face was blinding. The image of them in his mind almost made him laugh. He felt strangely secretive, as though they were standing in a true oasis, separate from the rest of the world. Stiles took a step in and leaned forward. “You’re still holding my hand.” 

Derek’s eyes grew wide and a chill went up Stiles’ back as the wind rushed over Stiles’ now-free hand. They must have been standing there longer than he thought. 

“I appreciate the cliché movie gesture,” Stiles said, and he did, because he knew Derek had done it for a reason, “and I’d like dinner, but gestures don’t erase our past. You have no leeway; you’ve used all your chances.” 

To Stiles’ surprise, Derek merely smiled. “That’s all I want. No ‘movie magic’. I want the real deal, not the epilogue.” 

Stiles’ heart beat faster in his chest. If anyone made Stiles want the ability to sweep every issue away with a heroic gesture, it was Derek. Heat rushed to his face and hoped he wasn’t blushing. “That’s what I want to.” 

“So, it’s a date?” He looked eager and a tad hopeful, maybe even. . . anxious? Stiles heart beat even faster. Derek was always the confident one. Insecurity, about Stiles? That’s new. 

“Let’s get going,” he decided. 

“We’ve barely been here an hour,” he responded, sounding almost bewildered. 

Stiles just laughed and motioned around them. “It’s a beautiful spot, but we didn’t exactly plan for it. Plus, I've gotten like three bug bites in the last half hour.” Which Stiles _hates._ They itch and swell to the size of a damn quarter on Stiles, a fact Derek knows, so it's not like he was out of character. He was relieved he had been dressed for a game, at least. Being out here in jeans or scrubs wasn’t exactly what he pictured as fun, even if it did shield him from mosquitos. “We aren’t a couple of lovesick teenagers, so, let’s go. You proved your point.”

Stiles spun on his heels and started for the trail back to their car. He didn’t have to wait long before the ruffling of bushes and stray branches breaking alerted Stiles to Derek scrambling after him. 

“Okay, but,” Derek started to say, “Wait up, Stiles.” 

Stiles kept going. It wasn’t like he was far ahead – a couple short jogging steps is all it would take for Derek to catch up. Plus, he had no problem admitting he was enjoying this. He could just make out concrete belonging to the road they’d left the car on. 

The car!

Stiles came to an abrupt stop, following by a muffled curse from Derek. Stiles cringed. He hadn’t meant to trip Derek, it’s just, “You got the car keys, right?” 

Derek crossed his arms and leveled Stiles with that trademark expression of his. That’s a yes, then. 

“Big baby,” Stiles huffed as he turned back to walking. For a while, the only sound was of grass and gravel crunching beneath their feet as they walked side by side. 

Tension radiated off Derek. Stiles knew why, but he wasn’t jumping to put him out of his misery. He just gave a mini lecture about acting like an adult. If Derek wanted to know something, he could ask. he wanted wasn’t until they were within eyesight of the car

“You didn’t answer,” Derek stated, looking straight ahead. Avoiding Stiles’ gaze, perhaps? For a brief second, Stiles though saying ‘to what,’ but he wasn’t sure Derek was in the right place for that, and he didn’t want to be cruel. 

“Unsure of your _skills_?” Stiles teased instead. He stifled a laugh at Derek’s answering scowl. 

“What? No,” Derek sputtered. 

“My, my, Mr. Big-Shot Businessman, brought to his knees by little old me,” Stiles bantered, a hint of glee showing through in his rhyming. They had reached the passenger side of the car.

Stiles pulled on the handle with no result. “It’s locked.” 

The click of it unlocking rang out when Derek placed his hand on the handle. He stood there, making no further move to open the door. 

“Derek, I told you. We didn’t plan on coming here, we were supposed to go to the game,” Stiles reminded him. “All I got at Rembrandts was truffles.” 

Stiles sigh dramatically at Derek’s confused expression. “I’m hungry. You’re paying.” 

Understanding dawned on Derek’s face as Stiles jerked open the door and slid into the black, leather seat. His door shut behind him with a bang. 

Derek did the same, albeit slower. He started the car and a smile bloomed on his face. 

His hand paused on the gear shift. “Dinner,” he said head tilted towards Stiles, as if probing for confirmation.

Stiles grinned. “I was thinking the diner by the hospital.” 

Derek shook his head and shifted the car into drive. 

Stiles leaned his head on the window, looking out at the scenery one last time before they returned to the city. He hoped Derek didn’t think he was kidding – he could really use some curly fries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought! I get SO excited when I see a new comment/kudos, they absolutely make my day. (: 
> 
> Also, a quick poll; Would anyone be interested in a flashback chapter? And if so, from whose POV?
> 
> Visit me on tumblr at [forgadgetsandgizmos](https://forgadgetsandgizmos.tumblr.com/)


	6. What We Do Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Popcorn, wine, and naps all around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny bit shorter than normal, but I wanted to get something out. I also added a tentative chapter count. Updates will continue to be once a month (though if I can update more, I will). Not beta'd, as usual, but I did my best. If you see any mistakes, let me know and I'll fix them. 
> 
> Full warning, this is fluff. Pure fluff. Enjoy!

“Rose Tyler.”

“No.”

“Wh- “Stiles sputtered, gaping. “You - No, just no?” 

“I’m not saying she’s the worst,” Boyd amended, “but she’s not the best. Her two reasons had some pretty bad episode and then they dragged out her leaving another two seasons after that.” 

“Th-that is _not_ \- “

“If that was the plan all along, why bother to get rid of her in the first place? It makes the writers seem desperate.” 

Stiles’ hands flew up to balance himself as he threw his head in between the two front seats to look at Boyd. “Stop right there,” Stiles demanded. “One, no companion stays with The Doctor for longer than two, maybe three seasons if you count that half of season 7 Amy and Rory got. Two, they didn’t drag out her leaving. They showed the bond Rose had with The Doctor through how hard she tried to get back to him which saved 27 worlds and, oh yah, the entire universe. Rose was the first badass companion who accomplished sometime on that scale by herself.”

One eyebrow arched in response. “She had help. That story line is practically the entire purpose of Donna. And what, 2,000-year-old centurion doesn’t count?” 

“Of course,” Stiles amended, “but Rory did that out of his love for Amy. Who, by the way, was in an indestructible prison. And Donne would never have gotten rid of that horribly low-budget bug that changed time without Rose’s help.” Stiles stressed _Rose,_ looking pointedly at Boyd.

Boyd hummed in response. An almost bored expression crossed his face.

Stiles gaped back. “You can’t just…” Stiles waved his hands, mimicking Boyd’s apparent disinterest. 

Boyd’s eyes flashed in amusement - amusement at Stiles? - before turning back to their debate. “Season 4 was Doctor Who’s Endgame, you can’t give Rose all the credit. Even if I overlook that and agree with you, you’re saying Rory’s choice and the resulting events that saved the universe don’t matter, because he did it out of love.”

“They matter,” Stiles interrupted, scoffing, “Amy and Rory are practically Love 101. Rory made a selfless sacrifice to protect the person he loved.” 

“But?”

“But Rory didn’t intend to save the universe, he didn’t know that was on the table. Rose set the precedent for self-sacrificing acts of love back in season 1, when she looked into the Tardis and single-handedly saved The Doctor, Jack, and future Earth.” He

“Rose made plenty of selfish choices of her own,” Boyd pointed out, slowly shaking his head at Stiles. “You just admitted that in the season 1 finale, she saved everyone by accident. She just cared about The Doctor. She made him selfish. He burned up a sun for her. Amy gave him family.” 

Stiles wanted to take Boyd’s head and shake him until he understood. “That friends-to-lovers dynamic is what drew viewers in. Jodie Whittaker wouldn’t be making history if Rose Tyler hadn’t revitalized the energy of Doctor Who!” 

Street noise broke the muffled silence in the car before Boyd could respond. A familiar scruff darted in and slammed the door shut behind him. 

Derek held up a folded brown bag. “Payment for waiting?” 

Stiles leaned back in his seat and muffled a smile. “You’ve been gone half an hour.” He fixed his eyes on a stray crack in the sidewalk on the other side of the street.

The sound of crackling taunting him broke his (admittedly low) resolve. 

“Though I’m never above bribery,” Stiles grinned. He snatched the bag eagerly and peered down at the blueberry muffin inside. “It’s got the sugar topping,” he exclaimed, looking back to Derek. “Where’s this from?”

Derek merely laughed and leaned back in his own leather seat. “Let’s get going,” he directed to Boyd with nod. “Don’t want to make you late.” 

The seat below Stiles vibrated as Boyd pulled off into the city traffic. As much as Stiles made fun of Derek’s rich-guy chauffeur, getting dropped off and picked up from half his shifts was something Stiles could get used to. 

He rolled the bag up tighter and tucked it into his work bag. It would make for a good breakfast snack for his shift tomorrow.

“I hope you know I’m not done with you,” Stiles announced loudly to ensure Boyd heard. 

“Oh?” Boyd briefly met his eyes in the rear-view mirror before glancing back to the road. 

Stiles took pity on Derek’s confused prodding. “Since you took so long, we started debating who the best companion of the Doctor Who reboot is,” Stiles explained. “I say Rose Tyler- “

“Oh, of course,” Derek agreed. 

“ _Thank you,_ ” Stiles cried out. He pressed one hand to his heart dramatically. “Boyd, you suck.”

“Okay,” Derek drawled, “who does Boyd think it is?” 

Stiles opened his mouth to answer, then slowly closed it. “Actually, we hadn’t gotten that far,” he admitted. 

Derek snorted. 

“River Song,” Boyd said. 

“What,” Stiles sputtered, “She doesn’t even count as a companion!” 

“Very controversial statement.” 

“A true statement! They don’t travel together, River can pilot the TARDIS, it’s a different class!” Derek’s laughter got louder.

Boyd glanced back at them both in the rearview mirror. “You’re just listing reasons I’m right.” 

“Okay, okay,” Derek soothed. “Boyd, you’re going to give Stiles an aneurysm and I made us late enough as it is.” He shot an apologetic glance towards Stiles as he spoke.

Not that Stiles was paying attention to it. No, his eyebrows were hitting the roof over a certain label Derek just used. Stiles blinked and said, “Didn’t realize we made that jump.” 

To Stiles’ utter joy, Derek was still sputtering when they pulled up in front of Stiles’ apartment. 

Derek grabbed Stiles paused before shutting his door completely and looked back to Boyd. “You can come, you know,” he offered. “Derek would probably appreciate having someone on his side.”

“Maybe later,” he answered in tone that gave Stiles the impression he was really saying ‘never.’

“Stiles, stop bothering Boyd!” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Jeez, give me a second.,” he called back loudly. Before he shut the door, he dripped his head back in and said to Boyd more quietly, “you know you love me.” With a wink, he shut the door and headed towards Derek holding his bag at the lobby door. The car pulled off with a rumble behind him. 

“Got the key?” 

“‘Course.” Stiles turned his phone to display a thin wallet attached and opened the door for Derek with a sweeping motion. “Sir,” he said, a mocking tone seeping into his voice. 

Derek scowled at him as he entered. 

Stiles took his work bag back and winced as he led Derek up the staircase to his apartment. “There’s no elevator,” he admitted. Made the place cheaper is what he didn’t say. That’s not a super fun thing to tell your ex-whatever, but Stiles refused to let himself be ashamed of it. He had traded a working elevator for a larger apartment in a better area, because there was no way in hell that he was going to call up Dad for help. Or deal with irresponsible roommates. He and Scott did their due as roommates in college. Stiles was an adult, thank you very much, and he didn’t need to rely on anyone else. 

It wasn’t long before they reached his apartment door.

“You ready?” 

Derek shot Stiles a familiar look. _Are you serious?_

“They promised to be nice,” Stiles reassured him. “I’ve already explained everything you said you were comfortable with me sharing.” 

Derek shifted his weight and pulled his hands out his pockets. “Got to face them eventually, right?” 

“That’s the spirit!” And with that, Stiles opened his apartment door.

***

Derek ran his finger over the rim of his glass. This shouldn’t be so terrifying, especially consider what he does for a living, yet the butterflies in his stomach had escalated to something more like a hive of bees. Stiles wasn’t fairing any better – he looked like he was about to vibrate right out of his seat.

Derek met the stony faces of Lydia and Scott and gave a tight smile. He hoped it came off as reassuring, at ease. Based off the increase in speed of Stiles’ bouncing leg beside him, he failed. 

“So, this is fun,” Stiles muttered. 

Lydia snorted and looked to Derek. “Stiles told us the basics of what happened seven years ago and in the interest of respecting people’s personal privacy, we won’t push any further.” 

“I still want to,” Scott grumbled.

“ _We_ won’t push any further,” Lydia emphasized, shooting a glaring at Scott. “We do have questions.” 

“Anything you want to know,” Derek agreed eagerly. Well, within reason, but she didn’t need to know that. 

“Why should we trust that you won’t up and leave Stiles again,” Scott snarled. Derek had half a mind to be impressed. He had never been all too good at intimidating people. 

“Other than my word, you don’t,” Derek admitted. He met Lydia’s eyes briefly before meeting Scott’s sharp gaze. “But I’m here this time. My mom taught me that everyone deserves a second chance. I’m not going to waste mine.” He hoped Scott was listening, actually listening and understanding. He couldn’t explain what had changed between them and now, not really. All he could do was show them both how much he cared and how determined he was to be here with Stiles and keep him safe and happy. It’s on Scott to have the maturity to see that and accept it. 

He was doomed. Stiles’ friends would all hate him forever. 

Scott didn’t say a word. Derek glanced over at Stiles, but he was still fidgeting absentmindedly and looking at Lydia and Scott with that same nervous anticipation. 

Derek didn’t speak up either. Filling silence was more a Stiles thing, and he had learned over the years that it’s best not to offer up more information than is asked for. 

“You’re in town to set up the hospital for your business?” Lydia questioned.

“Yes, I am.” 

“That implies you’ll be leaving when it’s done.” 

Stiles’ head snapped up. “We haven’t actually talked about that yet,” he rushed to say. 

“It’s okay.” He placed a hand on Stiles’ knee. “Stiles is right,” Derek said to Lydia. “We haven’t talked about it and that’s not a question I can answer before then.” 

Lydia’s eyes narrowed.

“However,” he continued quickly, “I’m not planning on going anywhere. If Stiles will have me, that is.” 

The fidgeting stopped. 

“Fancy answer,” Scott mumbled. 

Lydia swatted his shoulder. “Hush.” 

Scott straightened his back and returned to his attempt at glaring. Watching someone Derek once nicknamed ‘puppy’ try to intimidate him was almost enough to ease his nerves. 

“We aren’t friends. I’m friends with Stiles and you’re. . . whatever you are to Stiles, but that’s it. Understand? I’m going to be watching you.” 

“Understood.” Derek was glad Stiles still had such loyal and determined friends that they would go to these lengths to protect him, awkward as it is having that determination leveled on him. 

Lydia nodded once.

“That’s it,” Stiles exclaimed, his voice screeching high. “I practically had nightmares about this, and it was just a short ‘you hurt him, I hurt you’ speech?” 

“I voted for more,” Scott chimed in. 

“But he lost,” Lydia said pointedly. 

“More like I was ignored. There’s only two of us, I can’t be outvoted.”  
A huff of laughter echoed beside him. “Are we ready for our movie then,” Stiles suggested, picking up the remote and turning the T.V. on. They were watching the blue-ray version of Captain Marvel. Derek had never seen it and Stiles had declared that a downright atrocity to be corrected immediately. 

Lydia settled into the love couch to the side of the long one Derek and Stiles were seated on. “Grab the popcorn,” She asked sweetly, smiling up at the now-standing Scott. 

Scott groaned loudly but headed towards the popcorn sitting in two bowls on the counter. He flipped off the living room light and made his way back to their group to distribute the bowls right as Stiles clicked through the menu options to start the movie. The red glow of the Marvel intro filled the room.

The four of them watched in silence, Stiles occasionally chiming in with facts and comments. The movie was good and thankfully not confusing since Derek was pretty behind on his Marvel lore. He didn’t have a lot of free time to watch movies. In fact, now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t even remember the last time he went to a movie in-theater.

Near the end, Stiles put his arm behind Derek’s back and leaned in, laying his head on Derek’s shoulder. 

Brown hair tinged his vision and tickled his chin. Derek froze in place, not willing to risk Stiles moving if he did. He was careful not to look over where Lydia and Scott sat, keeping his focus on the T.V. in front of him. 

Stiles was asleep when the credits rolled. Derek remembers Stiles staying up until four to watch movies, but he was older now and had spent a full shift on his feet before this. Combined with the wine Lydia had brought, it was a wonder he had stayed awake this far. 

“Don’t wake him,” Lydia whispered. “He needs it to fix his sleep schedule. We can let ourselves out.” 

Derek gave a slight nod in agreement. He watched as they gathered the empty bowls and glasses and carrying them back to the kitchen sink. Derek hoped Scott didn’t try to confront him again. Lydia was right – Stiles needed to sleep. Thankfully, Scott finished cleaning up with only minor glaring. He heard the door crack open in the silence. No water - they must have decided to leave the dishes in the sink. 

The click of the door closing didn’t come. Just when Derek was about to risk twisting around to look, Scott’s form came into view. For a brief moment, Derek was worried he was going to start lecturing him again. But Scott didn’t say a word. 

He walked past them into Stiles’ room and emerged with a large fuzzy blanket he laid it across them both. Derek caught his eyes, hoping his own gaze conveyed his gratitude for the action. 

He got an upwards twitch of the lips before Scott stepped out, shutting the door softly behind him. 

Derek laid his head back onto the couch armrest, carefully maneuvering Stiles’ head with him so laid flat on Derek’s chest. 

Light still peaked in, but the curtains blocked out most of it and Stiles was curled up on his chest. He pulled the edges of the blanket up to right beneath Stiles’ chin and closed his eyes. It was as good a time as any to take a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/kudos bring me joy (:
> 
> Visit me on tumblr at [forgadgetsandgizmos](https://forgadgetsandgizmos.tumblr.com/)


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